It Began with a Goodbye
by Riley Berg
Summary: UPDATES WEDNESDAYS. Sophy leads an inconspicuous life. When Wong calls to tell her that her mother died during the battle with Kaecilius, she returns to Kamar-Taj and finds it difficult to remain inconspicuous. Add concerned friends, an obnoxiously stoic Wong, a comically sentient Cloak, a mysterious Doctor, and an unwanted family reunion, and things are never going to be the same.
1. Author's Note

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It Began with a Goodbye

by Riley Berg

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 **Full Summary:** Lady Sophia, or Sophy as she prefers to be called, has led a surprisingly inconspicuous life considering her heritage, so far as anyone left at Kamar-Taj remembers. But when Wong calls to tell her that her mother died during Kaecilius' attempt to bring the Dark Dimension to Earth, she feels obliged to rejoin her mother's people. With a goodbye to her friends, she returns to Kamar-Taj, and finds it increasingly more difficult to remain inconspicuous. Add concerned friends, an obnoxiously stoic Wong, a comically sentient Cloak, a mysterious Doctor, and an unwanted family reunion, and things are never going to be the same.

 **Disclaimer:** Obviously, I do not own _Doctor Strange_ or any element of the so-called Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-men Franchise, Fantastic Four Franchise, Marvel Comics, or anything other properties that may appear in this work. All recognizable content, including characters, objects, locations, concepts,  &c. are the property of their respective creators and owners. I'm just borrowing them for a while for my pleasure and yours. I do not make a profit from this work.

 **Author's Note:** So, I've had this character hiding in my computer for a while. She's been on a few adventures, but she was disinclined to think of them that way and wouldn't tell me her story except in bits and pieces. For some reason, upon seeing _Doctor Strange_ (AWESOME!), she popped into my head and I wondered how she fit into the newly edited MCU. Suddenly, she opened up to me about her past and started relating her adventures to me. Right now, this is just an idea and a tentative plot, but I wanted to get it out there for some feedback. Is it a good idea? Should I keep going? What constructive criticisms or encouragement do you have for me?

 **Interested? Read on.**


	2. Chapter 1

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 _It Began with a Goodbye_

by Riley Berg

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Chapter One

The obnoxious ring of my personal phone interrupts my meditation.

I consider ignoring it. I am obviously not meditating well enough if I noticed it at all. It would serve me well to continue practicing my meditation.

But only a few people have access to the number. And none would call for an insignificant reason. I think.

Rising and stretching from my cross-legged position on the floor, I make it to my phone a moment too late. Scanning the call log, I find an unexpected name. Wong. He has never called me before. I only have his number because Mother thought it best that I have more than one contact among the Mystics in case of emergency.

The phone vibrates in my hands with a message alert.

 _Video call as soon as available_. The message from Wong is short but worries me. Why does he need to speak with me? And why so urgently?

I make my way to the Con-Room, the conference room that I believe has never seen a conference. Birthday parties, yes, and video calls, of course, but when conferences are to be held, I suspect they take place somewhere more private.

In the Con-Room, I place my cell phone on a small circular stand that is designed to transfer calls to the room. A large screen automatically lowers when the presence of my phone is detected on the stand. Pressing the call button next to Wong's name, I wait for his image to appear on the screen.

"What are you wearing?" he asks as soon as his image appears.

"It's called jeans and t-shirt, Wong," I reply in mild exasperation.

He attempts a smile and I immediately know something is wrong.

"What happened, Master Wong?"

"She… she's gone. Your mother."

I stare in disbelief. "Gone? Gone? As in _dead_?"

Wong makes no reply except to nod. The world spins slowly around me.

I find my voice again after several long moments. "Have you held her memorial yet?" I manage to whisper.

"No."

"I will perform it."

Wong's surprise shows through his solemn expression.

"I know how to do it." At least better than anyone else, even if not well. "She deserves a proper end."

Wong hesitates a moment. "She was not who we thought she was."

It is my turn to be surprised. "So you found out in the end." I pause. "Whatever her methods and reasons for them, no one can argue that she did not help protect this world many times and in many ways and did her duties as a teacher and, despite her own use of them, tried her best to keep others from the… darker arts. The gods may judge her good or bad, but I believe it is our place to give her the respect of a proper burial. She will lie with the protectors that came before her."

"Yes, Lady Sophy."

I sigh and look at him with a little melancholy. "I am not pulling rank, Wong; I have no rank to pull. I wish you would get that into your head. Just… please let me do this."

"Of course, _Sophy_. I'm in New York. You can meet me here."

"New York?"

Wong looks over his shoulder. "I'll explain when you get here. I need to go."

"Bye, Wong."

"Bye, Sophy."

I walk straight to Charles's office, but he is not there. I stop a student in the hallway. I think her name is Samantha and I remember that she is ten years old (she is very proud of that fact).

"Do you know where Professor Xavier is?"

"Yep," she smiles, "he just got done teaching a class." She points down the hall. "Over there."

"Thank you, little one."

I watch as the girl, oblivious to the tragedies of life, skips merrily to her next class.

"Professor?"

"Ah, Sophy."

"Glad I caught you before you left and I had to start hunting for you all over again," I smile.

But the sadness must have shown through my smile because Charles replies with, "What's wrong?"

"Always so perceptive," I laugh lightly. "But you _are_ right," I sigh, "something _is_ wrong. And I have to leave." I pause. "It is funny… It should not take long, and yet I feel like I will not be returning… for a while." Or ever. I cannot see that far. Well, feel—not _see_ ; I am not that good yet. "I came to say goodbye."

Charles wheels over to me and extends a hand, which I shakily grasp before he pulls me down into a hug.

"You have been a good friend, Charles. This time, and many times before. There is no sufficient way to express my love and gratitude."

Neither of us can say anything more. With a sad smile, I turn from my long-time friend and, though I do not quite understand its presence, find a tear slipping down my cheek as I walk away. Goodbye never gets easier.

I find Ororo in one of the training rooms.

"Sophy. What do you need?"

"To thank you, and to say goodbye."

She looks at me more seriously this time. "Goodbye?"

"I have been… called away on short notice. I do not know when, or if, I will be back."

She is polite enough not to inquire after the details. "I'll miss you." It is a genuine admission.

"You have been so willing to help, even without fully understanding. You have literally given me life. And I cannot repay you. Whether I see you tomorrow or never again, I will always remember your generosity."

"Oh, Sophy, don't get all… poetic on me."

"Sorry, it just comes out that way," I laugh through the lump in my throat.

"Goodbye. May we meet again," she gives a little bow. Her words and actions are meant as a bit of comic relief, but they do little to relieve the sorrow beginning to press on my mind.

"In this plane of existence or the next, my friend."

With a subtle twist of my fingers, I open a shimmering portal before me and with a final nod goodbye, step through it into the New York Sanctum.

As soon as I arrive, I change my appearance. When I turn to look in the nearest mirror to make sure I did so correctly, I find another tear crawling down my cheek. Goodbye never gets easier.

My hair, now in its naturally long and blonde state, is gathered in a tidy bun tied with a white ribbon, instead of disguised in the brunette, short, unruly cut I have worn for the last few decades. My naturally green eyes shine brightly where dull brown ones once disguised them. My clothes are similar to Wong's and all those worn by my mother's people, except mostly white, the traditional color of mourning, and adorned with a large wooden bracelet on each wrist.

"Master Wong?"

Silence. Then footsteps. I turn around to see Wong approaching with his usual stoic expression despite my change in appearance.

I pull in a deep breath and look around me. There is evidence of destruction.

"Kaecilius," Wong explains.

"He succeeded?"

The question needs no answer. He succeeded, almost. Who else did we lose? What more damage was done?

"I should have stayed."

"If you had, you could be lying beside her right now."

"At least I would have died trying. Maybe _that_ would have made my wrongs right."

'Self-pity accomplishes nothing,' a voice echoes in my mind.

I sigh. "Why are we in New York?"

Wong nods. "We need to claim her body. She's—it's?—at Metro-General."

I raise my eyebrows. "So we have to do things the mundane way?" I sigh. "I… have papers to identify her and connect me to her, so that should give me authority to claim the body, but I do not… know how to go about that, or what sort of transportation we need to get her here."

"I think I know someone who can help with that."

"How soon?"

"Right now." Wong looks behind me.

I turn around to see another solemn face. Sadness is evident in his eyes, a reflection of my own. He lost her, too.

The stranger wears his clothing in the same style as Wong and me, indicating he is a student of the Mystic Arts. He is taller than Wong by a couple of inches, which makes him a full head taller than me. His hair appears to be starting to gray below the temples, but I cannot tell whether his eyes are green or blue from this distance. There is something almost familiar about him, though I do not think we have met.

"Lady Sophy,"—I glare at Wong—"this is Dr. Stephen Strange. He joined us at Kamar-Taj since your departure."

I extend my hand and Dr. Stephen Strange takes it with surprising firmness, but I cannot bring myself to return his respect by making eye contact. That eerie, shaky feeling I had at Charles's has returned and I feel somehow disconnected from my surroundings.

"Doctor? A medical doctor?" I manage.

"That's one of my doctorates, yes," he replies evenly.

I turn to Wong. "That is what you meant by 'help'?"

"He used to work at Metro-General, Sophy."

"I did not mean that to sound disbelieving, Master Wong," I apologize. I turn back to Dr. Strange. "I am here to claim the Ancient One's body, but I do not know the… procedures for doing so, or transporting her from the hospital. I have legal identification documents, I just do not know what to… do," I finish lamely.

"I'll take you through it, then, Lady Sophia—was it?"

"Please, just 'Sophy.' I barely allow Master Wong to call me that. If 'Sophy' is too informal for your taste, Dr. Strange, 'Master' is an acceptable title," I compromise. "But we really need to… get going. Let me grab the papers. I will be right down."

I make my way through the destruction, which I realize is relatively minor compared to what I thought it would be, to the office that was messy long before Kaecilius succeeded in making the dark pact. In the corner, buried beneath loose leaves of paper, is a small chest with a large lock. It unfastens with a flourish of my fingers and I extract the paperwork I commissioned from SHIELD not so long ago when Mother admitted to me that she felt her end nearing. These papers give the Ancient One a false identity, proven by a birth certificate, identification card, and American passport. SHIELD also forged the digital records to match, just in case, as well as other versions for other countries. There is also a falsified record of my birth proving her my mother and my own identification card and passport with a modified name and birth year to match. I glance at when I was supposedly born. I am to be twenty-five years old. I can do that. Finding a folder in the mess, I empty it of its previous occupants and put my papers in instead.

I walk more slowly on my way back. Many of the display cases housing the artifacts have been destroyed. I will help fix them later, but for now…

I extend the hand not clutching the folder of papers and slowly draw up the fallen artifacts and set them levitating where they should be stored; it is disgraceful to leave them on the floor among shards of glass. I tilt my head at an empty display case.

"Wong?" I call as I descend the stairs. "Where is the Cloak of Levita—?"

I stop short, staring at Dr.— _Master_ Strange in surprise.

"Do you really think you should be wearing that to Metro-General? It is bad enough that we are going in these clothes."

The Cloak of Levitation shrugs itself off of Dr. Strange's shoulders.

"It would seem to agree with you," I hear Strange mutter as I approach. He gestures to the door.

"Joined Kamar-Taj since my departure and already a Master," I muse as he hails a taxi. "You are a quick learner."

 **%%%**

 **%%%**

 **Author's Note:** Thank you so much for reading! Please remember to **follow** and **favorite** the story and maybe even me, if you haven't yet. Leave a **review** letting me know what you thought about this chapter. (I'm always open to constructive criticism or notes on needed edits, so go ahead and leave those in a review, too, if you have them.)


	3. Chapter 2

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 _It Began with a Goodbye_

by Riley Berg

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Chapter Two

It's so strange. I feel like I am shaking, but I'm not. There is this turmoil, this unknown _something_. I feel it hovering about me, and yet inside I feel calm, peaceful, centered. But I don't want to feel _peaceful_. With all the causalities, all the destruction, and Mother gone, how can I feel _peaceful_?!

"Um, Sophy?"

I look up at an unfamiliar woman.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Palmer. Stephen said you're here to identify his… friend's… body. I'll take you there."

I glance around in search of Strange. I may have known him only minutes longer than I have known Dr. Palmer, but he is one of my own.

As if reading my thoughts, Dr. Palmer adds, "Stephen will still come with."

I nod silently. I spent the majority of my time among exceptional people. I am unaccustomed to the way the "real" world works, but Strange said he would help me.

Strange takes the folder from me as we follow Dr. Palmer down a long corridor. I grow more nervous the farther we walk, but I cannot place the source of the nervousness beginning to gnaw at the sorrow pooled in my stomach.

I don't know how long it took to get here, or what corridors, stairs, or elevators we used, but I find myself standing in front of an open door with Dr. Palmer gently gesturing me inside. But I am frozen, with my hand braced against the doorframe as if that will keep me from having to walk in. Somehow, crossing that threshold feels so _final_.

That strange feeling of movement hovering about me suddenly solidifies into a recognizable form.

Time.

Walking through that door will eliminate some possible paths of my future, but open the gates to others that are now closed. A turning-point.

I glance behind me without really seeing.

An almost imperceptible touch at the small of my back and "Lady Sophia?" whispered in my ear bring me back to center.

I turn my head and look up through unfocused eyes to find Strange looking at me expectantly. I look ahead again, my decision made.

"Sorry," I smile lamely at Dr. Palmer, "it's just more… difficult than I expected."

A tear slips down my cheek for the third time today as I stare at the face of my mother, the Ancient One. She could be sleeping if not for the absence of the gentle sound of her breathing. I nod my head to affirm my identification of her because I do not know what to say, or if I can say anything.

I feel the weight of time on my shoulders as I understand that I cannot leave her until I have sent her to the resting realm, and that somehow that goodbye will only be the beginning of this new web of paths.

The one who taught me, who believed in me, who loved me even while I rejected her. The one who provided for me and was patient with me despite all that. The papers may be forged, but the Ancient One _is_ — _was_ my mother. And now am I without her.

"Sophy brought this with her. She wasn't sure what was needed to establish identity and claim the body."

It is said a little awkwardly, and I wonder why until Strange's arm brushes against me in handing the folder to Dr. Palmer. In my grief, I shed more than one tear. And turned to Strange despite not knowing him.

%%%

My cheeks now dry of tears and my mind determinedly set to forget the emotion-induced boldness I displayed at Metro-General, I stand beside Wong in the foyer of the New York Sanctum, staring sadly at Mother's lifeless body. I am still not quite able to believe that she is gone.

"What now?" Strange asks as he returns to us, now wearing the Cloak of Levitation.

"Now, we take her home," I answer without looking at either of my companions.

Without the crudity of a gesture, I lift her body with my sorcery and set it levitating at waist height, straight as a board though there is nothing beneath her.

"In silence," I add before gently moving her forward, toward the expansive set of doors that hide the permanent portal to Kamar-Taj.

Wong and Strange follow in silence as instructed and those at Kamar-Taj that survived the aftermath of Kaecilius's search for immortality instinctively mirror their silence as we pass. I bring her to rest in the middle of the courtyard and with my sorcery form a wooden platform beneath her where she can rest until the ceremony.

I meet Wong's eyes and indicate my mother with a gesture, trying to communicate that he should guard her. Apparently, he understands my silent communication because he straightens his stance into a guard pose. Satisfied, I leave the courtyard the mundane way (by walking) and make my way to my mother's old apartments.

I have seen the ceremony several times, but I do not know _how_ it is done. Hopefully, among Mother's books and journals lies the answer.

After hours of searching, I find my answers and spend another hour studying to make sure I understand. By the time I return to the courtyard, a silent gathering of students and Masters surrounds the Ancient One under the darkening sky. The crowd is depressingly small.

Strange notices me first and nudges Wong, who motions to the crowd to part for me, though it is not so thick that I could not easily pass through without much disturbance.

As I approach, I cause the wooden platform to disappear and Mother's body to lower almost to the ground as I kneel at her head. I take a deep breath, still uncertain whether or not I can do this. Until recently, I had abandoned the use of my powers. I have not yet reacquired my confidence in their use. And this… this is advanced.

But I have to do it. I have to do it for her.

Abandoning the elegance of commanding my sorcery with only thoughts for the greater control that the use of hands afford, I raise my arms, fingers patterned in a creation symbol. Slowly I form an alabaster coffin around her body, sweat beading on my neck from the exertion of a careful and intricate creation. I inscribe it in ancient tongue with her name, now known to none but me, her title as a Sorceress Supreme of Earth, and the many accomplishments of her centuries, ignoring the questionable means she sometimes used to achieve them. Finally, I sign the foot of the sarcophagus with my own prayer: _May She who has kept many from Darkness and saved One from its grasp find rest among the Stars._

I close my eyes and focus all my attention on everything I know about the resting realm. Carefully forming by sense rather than sight a small portal between myself and Mother's coffin, I pull in a shaky breath before pushing the portal slowly away from me with equally shaky hands. I open my eyes to see the last trace of the sarcophagus disappear through the portal.

My arms drop, tired and sore, and the portal closes.

My eyes on the ground, I sense more than see everyone's departure. A hand on my shoulder causes me to look up. Wong has an unusually concerned expression on his face. I wave him away, pretending my exhaustion is born of sorrow, not overexertion.

With him out of sight, I cannot restrain the tears. She really is gone. The last person who truly understood, who knew everything. She was patient with me, tried to guide me even when I would not listen. And then, too soon after I decided to accept her guidance, she is gone. She wasn't done teaching me yet. What am I going to do now? Who will tell me who I am supposed to be?

Goodbye never gets easier.


	4. Chapter 3

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 _It Began with a Goodbye_

by Riley Berg

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Chapter Three

I wake at Kamar-Taj the next morning in my mother's old chambers. A frightening thought occurring to me, I search through the book that taught the rites I performed for Mother. After reading through the book in its entirety twice, I accept that it does not contain what I seek.

I make my way to the library where I hear Wong is now Master. I peer around to make sure we are alone and indicate that I wish to go to the farther section of the library.

Accompanying me there, Wong gives me an exasperated look.

"What is it, Lady Sophy?" he adds, just to annoy me.

"Wong, in all your extensive studies, do you remember ever coming across the process by which a new Sorcerer or Sorceress Supreme is selected?"

Wong's face falls.

"You—?" He cannot finish his question, but I understand his meaning.

"The next is _not_ chosen by inheritance, nor is he or she chosen by an Overseer." Overseers are meant to establish a self-sufficient society of sorcerers, not rule over them. "So, in neither of my capacities would I be next or have the authority to choose the next," I clarify, "but neither do I have the information for how the next _is_ chosen."

We both look at that section of the library that was once Mother's private collection.

Wong glances at me with a shake of his head.

"Someone has to look. If you do not want to, I will. You can begin searching through the rest of the library. And, Wong? Until we find something, I think we should keep this to ourselves."

Between the library, Mother's private collection, and her journals, I should find something.

%%%

The next day or the day after that—I cannot tell which with all the busyness I inflict upon myself—I wake with a headache. Worrying that I lost track of time, I inquire the day of Wong, who says this will be my fourth day at Kamar-Taj.

My worry only increases with that news, and I place a video call to Charles.

"Hey, Charles. I was just… curious. When Ororo left that last time, how long was he gone?"

Charles makes a thoughtful expression as he recalls the time. "Four or five days, I think."

I sigh. I went four or five days without side effects then, so what is different now? I know I exerted myself, but the signs should not be appearing so soon.

"Why?"

I shake my head.

Charles peers at me. "Are you feeling ill?"

"I just have a little headache," I try to reassure, knowing I cannot outright lie to him. "I do not think it means anything; it has only been three days." Three strenuous days.

"Is there someone there that… knows?."

I shake my head. Not anymore.

"You're not planning on coming back here any time soon, are you?"

"No," I admit.

"There's no one there that you could ask?"

"I do not know any of the girls here that well."

"What about any of the men? The females-only rule is self-imposed, right? You could ask—"

"I 'self-impose' that rule for a reason," I interrupt.

Charles sighs. "Then at least reassure me that if you can't find anyone there to help, and if you can't come here in time… If it comes to _that_ , that you will make arrangements to be brought here or somewhere else where someone knows what to do with you."

I take a deep breath and reluctantly agree. Charles ends the video call with a somewhat hopeful smile while I regret calling him in the first place. Now he is worried about me.

The issue is that everyone I know well enough to ask for such a favor, every woman at least, is unavailable. Mother is… gone. Ástriðr is off-planet. Natasha and Wanda are in hiding, from what I hear. Sue is married. Jean is attached, too, but even if she was not, she is at Charles's school the same as Ororo.

%%%

In accordance with my promise to Charles, I approach Wong, now the person at Kamar-Taj who best knows me.

He stares at me in disbelief. "So, you're telling me that you might _faint_. And if you do, I should have you taken through the doorway to New York and contact someone named Charles Xavier, who will know what to do with you?"

"Precisely."

He continues to stare at me in disbelief.

I sigh.

"I have a… medical condition. I want to stay _here_ to continue searching, but my… medicine is _there_. So, if I get sick sooner than I am expecting, I just wanted to make sure that it is arranged for me to go to my medicine."

Wong is still somewhat confused but agrees to my request.

"Strange is Master of the New York Sanctum,"—I raise my eyebrows—"so, if you are planning on having me take you there in such a situation, it may be well to forewarn him as well."

So, in so short a time Stephen Strange has not only become a Master of the Mystic Arts but been appointed Master of a Sanctum. A quick learner indeed.

"Do you trust him?"

"I do not know who to trust anymore," Wong admits. "But he has proven himself once, so, yes, I trust him. At least as much as can be expected."

"Proven himself?"

"I'll tell you the story sometime."

"How about I take the last half of your responsibilities as my in-case-of-emergency executor off of your shoulders and put them onto Master Strange's in exchange for you telling me that story?"

"I can agree to that. Just don't call him 'Master Strange' to his face. He doesn't like it."

I raise an eyebrow in confusion.

%%%

"So, you see, he gave up his need for control at least long enough to save the world. He is still arrogant and it might yet be his downfall, but for the time being I'd say that we can trust him enough, certainly enough to call your friend if you're in need of… medical attention."

I nod. "Thank you for telling me. And in case I should faint, you can pass me off to Strange and have _him_ make arrangements with Charles."

That was quite a story.

Wong told me all he knew from his own experience and what the Ancient One and Master Mordo told him of Strange's studies, as well as the battles at the Sanctums so far as he could piece them together. To my utter disbelief, it was Strange that somehow put a stop to Kaecilius and prevented Dormammu taking the world. Wong did not know just how he did it, but he did know that he used the Eye of Agamotto. The Time Stone! And not only did he use it successfully and without it consuming him, but he voluntarily returned it to its place at Kamar-Taj.

If I cannot find out how a new Sorcerer Supreme is chosen, I am starting to get an idea of a candidate.


	5. Chapter 4

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 _It Began with a Goodbye_

by Riley Berg

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Chapter Four

I wake—well, half-wake—in darkness. The blankets are heavy. I try to remember why I covered myself so thoroughly. Maybe I was feeling sick. I remember my headache had only worsened with the progressing days, but I don't remember feeling anything else.

Then I realize it isn't just the blankets weighing heavily on me, but an arm.

That's strange; Ororo doesn't usually sleep so close. But if Ororo is sleeping beside me that means I was overcome with fatigue! I must have worried her terribly for her to abandon her usual position a few inches away in order to snuggle against me, and with her arm around my waist.

The thought, the worry about worrying Ororo—and Charles—wakes me a little more. But then the blankets feel heavier and seem to draw tighter around me and Ororo unconsciously pulls me closer as if sensing my wakefulness, and it all pushes me back into sleep.

%%%

When I wake, daylight streams across my face. I realize I am alone. Ororo must already be up. By the brightness of the light behind my eyelids, it is well into the day. But if I slept so late, I wonder why my still body feels weighted down with sleep as I slowly open one eye.

This is _not_ Ororo's room.

I sit up too quickly and my headache returns with a ferocity almost intense enough to keep me from noticing the heavy blankets falling—no, _flowing_ off me. Well, blanket. I stare, still tired enough that I question what I am seeing, as the blanket continues pulling off me and rises to a resting point at the end of the _futon_ I was sleeping on. Until I realize that it takes a familiar shape.

The Cloak of Levitation!

I whip my head around. I am at the New York Sanctum!

But why was the Cloak of Levitation—? I shake my head. There is no use in trying to figure out why a relic did what it did, especially not the Cloak of Levitation, which has far more personality than most relics. But it has a master now, so why would it—? Again, I shake my head. It is still a useless path of inquiry.

Trying not to let that and other questions press my already throbbing mind, I crawl to the edge of the mattress and attempt to stand.

Bad idea.

Apparently, I am still weak.

I cringe, knowing I am going to fall hard, and I do. But something catches my head before it smacks the floor. The Cloak. I glare at the crimson material as I recover from the shock of the fall. Shooing the Cloak away, I attempt to stand again. This time I'll do it.

Or not.

But this time I am caught before I can fall very far.

"Maybe you should not try standing yet, Master Sophia," comes a slightly familiar voice a little too close to my ear.

"Master _Sophy_ ," I grumble.

Strange—for my unfocused mind now recognizes the voice—assists me to a nearby settee where I find the outer portions of my mourning clothes flung over the arm. Glancing down I find the white tunic and tan leggings that remain. Somehow I manage to notice the absence of my boots while my mind continues to search for a settled state.

"What—what happened?"

My eyes closed against the sunlight, I feel the cushion sink beside me.

"Apparently, you didn't… wake up at your usual time or something. After you scared him with that little emergency instruction of yours, Wong felt it appropriate to check on you. I guess he couldn't wake you up. So, he brought you here."

"But Charles…"

There is a long pause. "I guess because he didn't know how long you had been… out, he didn't want to waste time coming to get you, so..." he trails off.

Even in my (now only slightly) foggy mind, that doesn't sound right. Charles has access to resources that would make my transportation instantaneous. But why would Strange lie?

I manage to squint at Strange. "Why are you lying?" I'm in no mood for subtleties.

He seems taken aback, from what I cansee, by my accusation.

Strange sighs as if in acceptance. "It was an… odd situation. You had the benefit of sleeping through it, but I had to live through it. I thought I'd save you the trouble."

Ah. There is only one kind of "medicine" that rejuvenates me. He must have been the one to administer it. And that must have been awkward for him.

I look at him contemplatively before deciding not to speak of it. _He_ obviously doesn't want to speak of it.

I don't remember how long I lasted before going comatose. "How long was I at Kamar-Taj before I…?"

"A week, I think."

"And how long was I asleep?"

"About forty-eight hours by my estimation, including the night you wouldn't wake up from."

I nod and regret it.

Without speaking of that which he obviously doesn't want to speak about, I cannot ascertain how much of that time Master Strange granted me his proximity—and I know he did grant me it, or I would not have been rejuvenated enough to wake, though I don't know how he knew to do it—but forty-eight hours is a long time to sleep. Even if I don't strain myself as I did before, I'm going to need renewing proximity too often for it to be practical for me to work at Kamar-Taj and rejuvenate at Charles's.

Lost in thought, I do not notice Strange's absence until he returns.

"Tea?"

I nod, this time without a pounding reply on the inside of my skull.

"With a bit of honey." He extends a cup to me.

I smile. "Mother's favorite."

"So, she was really your mother?"

I groan. Apparently, the cessation of my headache did not indicate the full return of my faculties.

I decide not to speak.

After I have consumed two cups of tea, I feel well enough to dress. I stand in front of the attic window pondering where to go from here. I cannot in good conscious leave the Mystics without a Sorcerer or Sorceress Supreme when I am the closest thing they have to an Overseer. An Overseer that was supposed to teach the humans how to take care of themselves, including something like selecting their own Supreme when the last died. I have searched the forbidden texts but found nothing. Maybe I missed it. But I am the only one who will search them, and the only one who can read Mother's journals—which are written in old Gaelic—or the old manuscripts that remain in the language of the Overseers or the few that are in ancient Greek. I cannot leave the Mystics. That is not an option.

So, how do I do so without fainting every week? Because I have a feeling this is going to take longer than I anticipated.

I sigh. I'll just have to freak out one of the females at Kamar-Taj with my strange request and maybe enlist Wong in helping me convince her that I'm not a creep or murderer… Though I'm not sure Wong will be much help with that.

"It was the Cloak," Strange interrupts my thoughts.

I look up, confused.

"The Cloak… prevented me from contacting your friend as you requested."

Ah. I remember, it does that sometimes. I always had a good laugh when it chose a new Master and they had yet to synchronize their thoughts.

"I thought perhaps I was supposed to take you to a medical facility myself, but the Cloak prevented that as well. I knew you needed help, but I didn't know what to do except examine you to the extent I was able with the available resources and… make you comfortable."

"So you rolled out the _futon_ in the common room."

Strange nods. "The dormitories aren't… well-kept," he adds unnecessarily; I know the state of this Sanctum.

"I tried waking you, and as Wong said, you wouldn't even respond. But you were breathing. Your body didn't seem to be in distress so far as I could determine. So, I let you rest."

Strange quiets and I wonder whether he is debating if he should tell the rest or still trying to avoid it again.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"This has happened to you before?" he replies with his own question.

I nod.

"And you know how to… heal it?"

I nod again.

"And it will happen again?"

"If I do not take precautionary measures."

"Precautionary measures?"

"The same thing as healing, just _before_ I faint instead of after."

"And there is no one at Kamar-Taj that knows how to… heal you?"

"No."

"You were avoiding telling anyone there?"

"Yes."

"But you do not want to leave to stay at your friends'?"

"Correct."

Strange sighs as if making a decision he does not want to. "Well, now _I_ know."

I raise my eyebrows. He is getting uncomfortably—for him—close to the admission he was avoiding.

"I don't know how it's possible, but I believe that… sleeping next to someone somehow heals you."

"Basically," I sigh. I wonder if the Cloak of Levitation guided him in that discovery.

"It's a long story," I reply to his expression of inquiry, "that I'm not going to tell you." At least, not at the moment.

"So, you need to sleep next to someone occasionally or you'll… faint?"

"Yes," I reply in annoyance. Haven't we clarified this already?

"You don't want to stay at your friends', and you don't want to tell anyone else, but I already know. So, why don't you stay with me? You will be close to Kamar-Taj as you wish, and I'll… provide you with those precautionary measures we were talking about."

I raise my eyebrows. Why would he make that offer?

"In exchange for what?" I inquire warily.


	6. Chapter 5

%

 _It Began with a Goodbye_

by Riley Berg

%

Chapter Five

"In exchange for what?"

Strange straightens a little. "For teaching me your sorcery."

"You are a Master of the Mystic Arts."

"That does not mean I have nothing left to learn."

"Of course it doesn't. Even the Ancient One herself was still a student of the Arts. But Masters train together, exchange knowledge, relate experience. One may be considered greater than the other in power, learning, or wisdom, but they are of equal status, not teacher and student. Yet you imply that I have something to _teach_ you as if I am above you."

"I believe you do."

I raise my eyebrows.

"The ceremony you performed for the Ancient One," he begins. "You levitated and moved her, created a platform and then a sarcophagus out of nothing, and your sorcery was… invisible all the while. I thought that it was just the nature of the ceremony until I happened to return to Kamar-Taj the next day to exchange books with Wong and saw you create a portal. Again, your sorcery was without the light that manifests when everyone else uses their spells, the Ancient One included. Not only that, but that time I noticed something else: you did so without a sling-ring."

I look at him in disbelief. "So you want me to teach you to use 'invisible' sorcery, as you call it, and how to create portals without a sling-ring?"

"And other spells beyond the defense, attack, and portal spells I have been studying, including how to create something from nothing," he adds.

"Nothing is created from nothing."

"I thought you'd say something like that."

I sigh. "You are correct that I am averse to returning to Charles's, and that I wish to stay near Kamar-Taj. And I cannot take from you the knowledge that you have gained about my… weakness, and how I overcome it. But I," I tilt my head, "have a rule against allowing men to be my… rejuvenation." Something is compelling me to break it, but I am not going to tell him that yet.

Strange opens his mouth to speak, but I silence him with a gesture.

"And I cannot guarantee that I can live up to my end of the deal. I can help you as one Master helps another, yes, but I do not know if I can teach, or if you can learn, 'my' sorcery. By entering into this agreement, you are offering something very valuable to me and very awkward for you, without assurances of gaining _anything_ in return. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he replies too quickly.

"Strange! I am serious. If you are incapable of learning this, it will not be because you aren't smart enough or committed enough or… believing enough. It will be because of something you cannot control, cannot overcome. This is a game of chance, not a test of ability."

Strange looks at me half disbelieving, half curious, but I see that his determination has only solidified. At least he is more solemn when he replies, "Yes," again.

"How long did you sleep beside me?"

He seems confused at the apparent change of subject, but replies, "The whole night you were brought here, and the next night as well."

I usually sleep next to my chosen companion nightly, but I wonder if I can longer than that. I used to be able to, but now… things are different. Maybe every other night? But then if a circumstance arrives that takes him or me away for a day or two, I might be pushing my luck.

"It will have to be nightly."

"What?"

"Every night. You will have to stay beside me every night. If you or I have something that calls us away, or just want a night away occasionally, that should be fine, but for the most part: every night. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he replies with slight hesitation.

"Do you agree?"

"Yes," he replies more firmly.

"What is your full name?"

"What?"

"Your full name? I don't know you well enough to have an informal agreement. I need your full name to have a formal one."

"Stephen Vincent Strange."

I extend my hand and he grasps it, but I neither shake it or let go.

"You, Stephen Vincent Strange, agree to maintain," uncomfortably, "close proximity to me nightly, save for agreed-upon exceptions, and in exchange I," I swallow the anxiousness in my throat, "Aphrodite Areia Sophia, will act as your partner in training and attempt to the best of my ability to facilitate your learning of the Mystic Arts as known to the Overseers." I think I worded that as clearly as possible.

Strange shakes my hand once, sealing our agreement.

"One more thing."

"Yes?" he inquires warily.

"May I call you Master… Stephen? This 'Dr. Strange' business is too… mundane." But I know you don't like 'Master Strange.' Wong warned me about that.

After an almost inaudible sigh, he agrees.

I look up. "Thank you, Master Stephen."

He lets go of my hand and takes a small step back, a look of surprise on his face.

I tilt my head at him. "What?"

"N—nothing. That's just," he composes himself, "the first time you made eye contact with me. Your eyes are… very green."

Is that the first time I made eye contact with him? I suppose it might be. Even after stepping through the doorway that I knew would affect the paths available to me, the feeling of turmoil hovering around me did not entirely cease. I still felt unsure and uncomfortable and as if I did not know what I was doing. The peace at my center was not enough to quell it.

But now it is. Or the turmoil no longer has a reason for existence. I no longer feel disconnected from my surroundings. I still do not know the answers, or maybe even the questions, I seek, but somehow I feel as if I am on the right path to discover them.

"I'm sorry, I forgot I wasn't disguising my appearance as usual," I say as I recall that I am not showing the faux brown eyes that I normally disguise myself with. "Humans tend to find my eyes disconcerting." I turn back to Stephen. "But those that are… gifted tend to be more accepting."

He ignores my teasing.

"Why do you disguise yourself?"

"I have my reasons," I reply vaguely. "But you needn't worry about it. Since… Mother's death, I have felt it inappropriate to manifest myself in any form but my natural one."

"Manifest? You mean you don't use colored contacts, but… sorcery?"

"No," I laugh, thinking I know where his thoughts are headed, "I cannot teach you that. It is not a Mystic Art, but rather a… gift I was born with."

Stephen replies with silence and I decide I need to make tea, but before I can escape, Stephen interrupts with, "Humans?"

I look back at him. "What?"

"You said 'humans' tend to find your eyes disconcerting."

"So?"

"Humans don't talk like that."

I smile. "No, they don't."

And then I go make some tea.


	7. Chapter 6

%

 _It Began with a Goodbye_

by Riley Berg

%

Chapter Six

It takes another night of rejuvenation for me to feel whole again. We roll out the _futon_ in the common area again, but I know we will have to make other arrangements eventually.

With my body fully healed, I am reminded that my spirit is not. No number of deaths experienced could prepare me for the death of my mother. In search of diversion, I use the portal to Kamar-Taj. I apologize to Wong—who pretends not to care—and assure him I am well again and have put in place maintenance measures to prevent it from happening again.

"But I will be staying in New York to do so."

"I have continued the search," Wong turns the subject to more pressing matters.

"Good. I will help with that again, as well. We need to find it." I pause, pulling in a somewhat ragged breath. "When I… left, I did not do so because I thought my studies were complete, or even because I felt I could study better elsewhere. I left in… frustration. Anger, even. But however quickly I may have learned, or relearned, I still… want to continue. But with Mother gone," and without returning to Charles's, "I have no one to guide me, so, Wong, if you…"

I do not know how to finish. But I do not have to. Wong nods his head.

"Thank you. Perhaps it will not be so frequently as I would like, with our other task at hand, and the time I have to dedicate to… my health," or, rather, the payment for it, "but I look forward to working with you once again, Wong."

I leave Kamar-Taj with a stack of books to search through, but decide to attend to the Sanctum instead. Strange is not in sight, or within the range of my voice, so I decide to pick my own starting place. Perhaps we can use the repair and tidying of the Sanctum as practice for the skills Stephen seeks to develop, but I would like a place of my own within the dormitories even if I will not often sleep there.

Some hours later, Strange finds me in one of the dormitory rooms, now clean and organized. I have little possessions to my name, but I have fetched the few I do have from Kamar-Taj. A small picture of Mother rests on the mantle above the fireplace next to a book of a similar size, written in her own hand. A wooden box on the bedside table holds an old SHIELD badge that has no use but sentiment, alongside a black pearl necklace Ástriðr sent me when she finally left Earth. The drawer beneath holds a number of t-shirts I had commissioned in a moment of silliness while living with my super friends, each one a reminder of a dear friend among the Avengers. I have no keepsakes to remind me of my times with Charles or his companions, but recent memory is enough for now.

I close the book I was searching for information on the selection of Sorcerers Supreme and look up. Steven is in his Master's robes (with the Cloak), a comical contrast to the plastic in his hands which my nose notices hold hot food.

"Takeout?"

%%%

The next day, I am pleasantly surprised by a call from my friend Sue.

"What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" she asks without waiting for me to say "Hello."

"Thanksgiving!"

"What?"

"I almost forgot," I laugh.

"Oh."

"I was not even in the country last Thanksgiving," I excuse myself, "and with all that has happened in the last few weeks… my mind was elsewhere."

Sue chuckles, readjusting to my odd personality with practiced ease. "So, you going to join us, or are you staying at Charles's?"

"I am not actually _at_ Charles's, and I would _love_ to come." But what about Strange? He is American; he is accustomed to celebrating the holiday. Does he have family or friends to spend it with? "Sue?"

"Yes."

"I have a… friend. I am not sure whether or not he has plans, but if he does not, is it okay if I invite him?"

"A '…friend,'" she imitates my manner of speaking, "that is a man, and you want to invite to spend Thanksgiving with you?"

I groan internally, but say, "No," with firmness.

"No?"

"No, Sue. It is not like that, and you know it, because if it _was_ like that, I would have said so. The pause that you hung your assumption on was because I am not sure I can call him a friend as opposed to a simple acquaintance." I sigh. "Just because you are blessedly in love does not mean everyone around you is dropping like flies, too."

There is a pause, and then, "Yes, you can bring him. You might want to forewarn him of our… eccentricities."

I laugh. Between having his mundane mind introduced to reality and his, well, saving the world, h has had his fair share of odd experiences. "He will fit right in."

"Okay," she says somewhat hesitantly. "Tomorrow, at one. And Ben says you better bake him a pie."

We end the call with pleasant goodbyes and my face falls. One pie is not going to cut it. I venture to the kitchen and am not surprised to find it in disarray. The pantry is bare, as is the freezer. There is nothing but a half-full bottle of soda in the fridge.

"Master Stephen," I call, uncertain where he is, "I am going out. You need anything?"

A portal opens before me and through it steps an irritated Strange. "You interrupted my meditation."

"If I could interrupt it, you were not doing it correctly," I smirk.

He glares.

I sigh.

"I am going to the store; do you want anything?"

"No."

"You have plans for Thanksgiving?" I ask of a sudden.

"Thanksgiving?"

"You know, the American holiday where people get together with their families or friends and eat an inadvisable amount of food and hopefully have a good time?"

He narrows his eyes with a hint of an exasperated sigh. "I know what Thanksgiving is."

"So, do you have plans?"

"No."

"Good. You can join mine."

He betrays his surprise. "What?"

"You can join my plans for Thanksgiving," I clarify. "I am spending it with friends, and they said I could bring someone."

"I'll pass."

"You can wear your Masters' robes."

He looks at me quizzically but turns down my invitation a second time.

"Come on, you cannot spend it alone."

"Why not?"

"Because no one should be alone," I answer seriously. "And if you refuse to join me, I will sic Wong on you instead," I add on a more lighthearted note. But I really will do it.

Strange appears to weigh his options.

"Do your friends have senses of humor?"

"Yes," I reply in confusion.

"Then I will go."

I smile. "Alright, I will let them know."

%%%

Strange complains about my lack of teaching only once. I manage to clean the kitchen just enough to work in and bake far more than one pie. Reed can eat a whole pie by himself, Johnny will devour the better part of two, and Ben… well, I think he stopped at four last time because there were no more.

By the time noon rolls around on Thanksgiving Day, I have the pies carefully arranged in a cooler for easy transport and I am standing in front of the mirror making last-minute wardrobe decisions. I historically spent so much time downplaying my appearance that it is nice to dress up again. I wear gray suede leggings and matching suede boots in black, with a white tunic of Greek-inspired design, edged in gold. My hair is curled and pinned up with golden headbands. With a little effort, I am able to extend my shapeshifting abilities to my wooden bracelets as well as my clothes, turning them into golden bands to match the rest of my attire. The boys will be surprised to find me wearing my hair long and blonde and showing my natural green eyes; I think only Sue has seen me thus.

"Master Stephen," I find him in the entry hall (in his Masters' robes after all), "I am always behind on human fashion. Is this too gaudy?"

"You're asking the wrong person," he says, eyeing me. "But I think it looks okay."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence," I mumble as I walk down the stairs, wondering if I really was incorrect about Strange's attention to fashion. Maybe that was his mundane self, and he is abandoning that part of himself as he comes to know reality.

The Cloak of Levitation rests in midair near one wall of the entryway. I tilt my head at it. I suppose, considering the company we are joining…

"You can bring her if you want."

Strange looks at me quizzically, then follows my gaze to the Cloak.

"Her?"

"Her," I smile.

He says nothing further but swings the Cloak over his shoulders. I watch as he walks toward the doors, wondering whether or not it is a figment of my imagination that he seems more relaxed.

"We will have to take a cab. They have… measures in place that might interfere with our using a portal."


	8. Chapter 7

%

 _It Began with a Goodbye_

by Riley Berg

%

Chapter Seven

They say New York cabbies have seen it all, and I am sure they have seen a lot, but I wonder if our taxi driver manages to keep a straight face only because of years of practice. With Strange in his Masters' robes and the Cloak, and me dressed up like a modernized Greek goddess (little do they know!), and pulling a cooler no less, I am sure we are an odd sight.

Strange's expression remains neutral when we arrive at the Baxter Building, so I cannot ascertain his thoughts on our destination. Pulling out an identification card Reed issued me years ago, we pass through the security measures with ease, even if it _is_ the mundane way.

Our destination floor is thick with the aromas of a Thanksgiving feast in the making. I know from my familiarity with it that it is divided into four spacious suites surrounding a large common area, which the elevator opens to. No one is in sight when we enter, but Sue steps out of the suite she shares with Reed with remarkable timing.

"Sophy!" she greets with an enthusiasm that always makes me wonder whether or not she is exaggerating.

As she quickly makes her way across the living area of the common room, I notice that she takes in Stephen's and my appearance, but she says nothing more than a happy, "You're looking yourself," as she pulls me into a hug. She is the only one of the four who was privileged to see my natural appearance.

"I'm so glad you made it! Thanksgiving hasn't been the same since you abandoned us for the _Avengers_."

I cringe. "So, you found out about that, did you?"

"Of course!"

"Well, technically I was still acting as their liaison while living with you," I pout, "they just were not… around. Anyway, that was only _one_ Thanksgiving. I was away last year, remember?"

"I think you did mention that," she sighs, but then her face returns to its smiling state, with a little mischief.

Oh, no.

"So, are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Yes, sorry. Sue, this is Stephen Strange."

I pause for half a moment, wondering what to call Strange. Is 'Master Stephen' appropriate in this setting? But calling him Dr. Strange sounds too formal, and the friendly use of surnames as terms of address is vanishing in this country, if not others…

Strange offers Sue his hand, causing me to take action.

"Stephen," I decide in the moment, "this is Sue Storm. Richards."

Sue laughs as she shakes Strange's hand, then turns to her smile to me. "Either way. Legally, it's Richards, but I still go by Storm of a professional basis." She turns back to Strange. "But you can just call me Sue."

"Stephen," Strange reciprocates.

Sue takes the cooler from me despite my protests and directs us to the kitchen (and toward all those delicious smells) that takes up a large corner of the common area, where we find Johnny—no surprise.

"Johnny," I greet mildly.

"Sophy," he returns, taking in my appearance. "Sue said you'd be joining us."

"This is Stephen," I introduce, indicating Strange. "Stephen, Johnny."

The men nod at each other, but Johnny does not bother leaving his position on the counter to shake hands or otherwise greet his guest, or to help Sue put the pies in the refrigerator.

His mouth is half-full when he adds, "What's up?" in that rhetorical way.

Then I see what he is eating.

"Oh, you have that bread!"

"Only youwould be excited about bread while surrounded by the aromas of a feast."

"Reed!" I squeal at the sound of his voice, throwing my arms around him before he can finish his sentence.

"Now, why don't I get a hello like that?" Johnny pouts.

I snort at Johnny as I release Reed. "You know very well why."

I snatch the bread from the counter and pop a few slices in the toaster before turning to Strange.

"This is the best bread in existence," I say with surety, "but only toasted, buttered, and smeared with jam. It makes for horrible sandwiches." I nod to myself, smiling.

Sue laughs. "There's our dear old Sophy."

After thoroughly enjoying my bread and jam, I help Reed finish setting the table and then keep Johnny away from the food while Sue enlists Strange to help move the feast to the dining room section of the common area.

"Where's Ben?" I inquire as the last dish is set amidst the banquet.

Sue and Reed exchange looks.

"Being shy?" I ask quietly.

Sue nods.

"Ben!" I yell. "There are _seven_ of Sophy's famous molasses pumpkin pies with your name on them." Literally. I used white chocolate sauce to write on them.

Four seconds later, Ben enters the common room through the large doors of his private suite. Strange takes the appearance of the Thing in stride, but the Fantastic Four are not unknown to the masses, even if they have fallen out of front page news with more recent superhero emergences.

"Now we can eat," I smile.

Reed takes one end of the table and Ben the other, leaving Sue and Johnny sitting across from Strange and I. The room is relatively quiet for the first ten or fifteen minutes as we all begin to enjoy the feast, but Sue manages to get a conversation going after that.

%%%

Ben happily eats dessert at the dinner table while Sue, Reed, Strange, and I sprawl on the couches in the living area of the common room. Johnny tries to annoy me with his antics. I debate whether I should physically harm him or use my sorcery. The latter was not an option when last I was among the Fantastic Four, as I had not yet given up my sorcerous fast, as I called it.

I lean over to Strange and whisper, "Would it be a selfish use of my abilities to use them to drop-kick Johnny without having to touch him?"

"No," he whispers back.

"No?"

"No. It would be a generous provision of entertainment."

Enabler.

I smile mischievously.

And topple Johnny with a thought.

He stands up quickly, ego evidently bruised, and looks around to see if anyone saw. Either Sue and Reed are oblivious, or they are kindly pretending to be, and Stephen chuckles under his breath while I look in the other direction.

Afternoon turns into evening as we talk about our lives since parting and discuss the usual unimportant subjects and Ben and Johnny watch football. As the evening grows late, I lean against the railing by the elevator, overlooking the common area and my friends in it. I consider them one of my adopted families and am very fond of them and our times together.

"You love him," Strange interrupts my thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"You love him."

"I love him?"

"Reed," he nods in the direction I was looking.

I smile. "Yes. And Sue, and Ben, and even Johnny. But not like that. Not like you're saying."

"That's a lot of affection shining in your eyes for it to be 'not like that.'"

I shrug. "Maybe you do not give your friends _enough_ affection."

Strange looks at me doubtfully.

"There is little that lasts," I say, "but memories and knowledge, and knowing that you loved your friends with all your heart."

"How philosophical," he replies emotionlessly and leaves me to look over my friends alone.


	9. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Thank you all so much for your continued support, for all of you that have read, followed, favorited, and reviewed this work and spread the word to your friends. Follow me on Twitter RileyBergBooks for continued updates.

%

 _It Began with a Goodbye_

by Riley Berg

%

Chapter Eight

I can feel the awkwardness rolling off Strange Friday morning, when I finally find him; he was already up when I woke. I note that he is wearing the Cloak despite being indoors and off-duty, as it were.

"What is the matter?"

He looks up, startled from his studies.

"What?"

"What. Is. The. Matter?"

He looks at me blankly for a moment, before exhaling loudly. "Just recovering from yesterday."

"Recovering?"

"Well, that was… I'm not sure what that was."

I laugh lightly. "I suppose you are not _quite_ as immersed in the world of extraordinary people as might have been an advisable prerequisite to that experience, but you did well."

"You would have been better off spending the day with your friends without having to cater to an outsider."

"But by bringing you, you are no longer an outsider," I counter. A thought occurs to me. "It was awkward for you to walk into a group that had so much history?"

He nods. I nod.

"It is often that way. And then when there is no one that has known them longer than you have, there is something new that has happened since last you saw them, and you are still in the dark, as they say. That is why friendship—true friendship—is so great; little things like having met only five minutes ago or having not seen each other in twenty years matter not."

After a long pause, Strange asks, "How did you meet?"

I smile and sit down in front of him. "I used to work with SHIELD," Strange raises his eyebrows, "before it fell apart, of course. I would sometimes be called upon to contact those that manifested superhuman abilities. Determine if they were friend or foe. Offer education, training, or employment at SHIELD. Those types of things. That is how I met those four. That is, in fact, how I met Charles as well. And, like it did with Charles, something… clicked between us, and we became friends. Later when I was working in New York and needed a place to stay, they took me in, and that furthered our friendship. Sue and Reed were not married then, so I was willing to let Sue… provide me with rejuvenation. So, yes, we have quite a history together. But they are not my only friends and I am not their only friend, and newcomers are always welcome, so long as they can keep from staring at Ben," I finish. "Now, are you ready to start your lessons?" But I do not know what to teach—or, rather, how to teach it.

But Strange nods, so I am obliged. I spend a moment thinking.

"I am going to tell you something that few Masters know. Mother knew it. And Wong, who has taken a more scholarly approach to the Arts,"—do not take me wrong, you do _not_ want to get in a fight with him, either—"also knows this, or some of it. But as far as I am aware, no one else does. Except me, of course."

I pause for a moment, forming my thoughts.

"Earth is not the only life-giving world in this universe, nor are humans the only species." This is not a secret, but it is an introduction to the secrets I will tell. "Other peoples have long foretold the upheaval of the universe at this time, the threats from many different directions, according to their varying abilities to See. My…"—well, he already knows who my mother was—"father's people, whom I know only as the Overseers, saw one of those threats: the Dark Dimension. But they were also gifted with the ability and insight to battle against him.

"Sorcery comes naturally to my father's race. Humans have to shed their disbelief and misconceptions and learn how to draw out the power, but my father's people cannot _not_ have the power. They sent emissaries, for lack of a better word, to other worlds, to teach their peoples how to use sorcery for the protection and defense of those worlds.

"This world, for a reason I admit I do not know, is highly valued by several destructive forces, Dormammu included. Despite being relatively undeveloped technologically and having its sorcerers confined to living in secret rather than teaching to all, Earth is like a magnet for greatness, both evil and good.

"Humans were taught to use sorcery in exchange for dedicating themselves to the protection of this world. I believe that has already been made clear to you, and that you have already chosen your path. And if that _is_ the path you have chosen, then I will do all in my power to increase your knowledge, understanding, and ability."

Because you have the makings of a Sorcerer Supreme. And this world may one day have to depend on you. Again.

Strange looks at his hands almost regretfully (and I imagine the Cloak clings a little closer to him), but he nods. He could learn to heal them, and he knows it. I do not believe it is impossible for him to heal them _and_ help protect the world, but I trust Mother had a good reason for making him choose, and until I see otherwise, I will follow her path on this matter.

"I said that I did not know if you could learn, but _not_ because of your capabilities. Rather, because of my potential inabilities. As I have already eluded to, I am not human. Not fully. My abilities come from both my human and my other—let us call it Overseer—half. I do not know if some of the things I do, some of the things you want to learn, are just the way my Overseer half works and thus impossible for a human such as yourself to imitate. I am telling you this so that, if it proves true, you understand it is not your fault. But until that happens, _if_ that happens, I want you to forget it. Do not doubt your abilities just because you are human. As I know you have already discovered, belief is a very important factor in learning.

"In addition, I…" I pause, uncertain how to explain how someone with my level of ability is at the same time new in my studies and inexperienced as a teacher. "Well, I am going to tell you a story. When I was young, I did not distinguish between right and wrong. I was more interested in instant gratification, as they call it these days, and sometimes the… high that accompanies power. I used my abilities for satisfaction and manipulation. Mother eventually convinced me to leave my father's house, which had influenced me to be that way, but even in a new setting, I continued in my selfish ways. Eventually—a long, long eventually—I realized the error of my ways. I ceased to do so, but instead of turning my powers to good, I ceased using them altogether." Except for a few exercises to help me relieve the pressure of having powers and not using them, but saying that would require even more explanation. "So I spent a long time not only without learning and improving, but even regressing from lack of practice. Only relatively recently did I decide to acknowledge that I needed to _do_ something, but even then, I refused to use my powers. I have been a student of the Arts for only a little longer than you if one takes into consideration only my recent studies rather than the experiences of my youth."

I see an expression on Strange's face that reads something like "Your youth? You're still in your youth."

"I am older than I look, I suppose I should say. Older than you, certainly. Older than anyone you have ever met, most likely."

He looks as if he does not believe me, but there is little I can do about that.

"Because I am so young in the Arts and have no experience as a teacher, I am afraid you will have to have just as much patience with me as I will need with you. And a history lesson is all the lesson you are getting today. I need to plan."

%%%

I try to send Strange to Kamar-Taj on Saturday for study or training, or even spending time with his friends there. He replies with, "I don't have friends," but remains silent when I inquire whether or not Wong is his friend as I had assumed. Accepting that I am unsuccessful, I suggest he go out in New York for the same purpose. He replies with the same answer. With a sigh, I accept that Strange wants to be a hermit today.

I spend a day holed up in my dormitory room, figuring out how I might begin to teach him. I have never taught anyone before. I know how Mother taught her students, but she was teaching somewhat different subject matter.

By the time I stumble upon a promising idea, Strange is at my door with supper.

"Takeout again? There is a reason that novices are taught how to make a proper cup of tea," I sigh.

Strange ignores my comment. I get up.

"You are supposed to be able to feed yourself," I continue. "And others. You know, as Sanctum Master you can ask a novice to live and study here and take on some of the menial chores."

Strange continues to ignore me as he hands me my share of the food.

"We can at least eat at the table," I try.

He accepts that, though we have to clear off the table first. An idea occurs to me.

"As Sanctum Master—"

Strange gives me a silencing look that would send an intimidated shiver down my spine if I were not, well, me.

"What?" I ask, annoyed.

"Our deal is that you teach me, not tell me what to do," he replies with equal annoyance.

I scoff. "I was not telling you what to do! I was just about to say that, since the maintenance of the Sanctum is one of the areas you oversee as its Master, we can use the needed repairs and tidying and cleaning as practice for your skills."

He does not say it, but I can see "Oh" written all over his face.


	10. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** Thank you all so much for your continued support, for all of you that have read, followed, favorited, and reviewed this work and spread the word to your friends. Follow me on Twitter RileyBergBooks for continued updates.

%

 _It Began with a Goodbye_

by Riley Berg

%

Chapter Nine

Despite my pathetic direction, Stephen is able to tap into that manifestation of sorcery that is akin to telekinesis, and we manage to repair most of the damages to the Sanctum in the weeks following Thanksgiving. I smile each time I pass the relic room.

I also invent a way to "create something from nothing" by the use of very small portals. It is not creation, but rather the transfer of an object from one location to another. We start with liquids, which proves easy, but then I try to instruct him on calling objects from other dimensions of the multiverse and that proves more difficult. We are still working on it as Christmastime comes around.

What portions of my schedule are not filled with Strange are filled with reading books in search for Supreme Procedure, as I have come to call it, and Christmas shopping. You would think I would have the foresight to do my Christmas shopping before the busyness of December, but I never do.

After Stephen's complaints about Thanksgiving, but not wanting to leave him alone for Christmas (and assured that he has no plans—again), I plan to spend Christmas at the New York Sanctum and invite Wong to join us for Christmas dinner. He does not give an affirmative reply, but I know he will be there.

I have Stephen use his new abilities to help me tidy the rest of the Sanctum. Now I can cook in the kitchen without fighting the mess, and the office is finally organized. Even the rest of the dormitories, despite being unused, are clean. When all is done, I have Stephen use his powers to put up the Christmas décor. He looks at me like he suspects I am too lazy to do so myself, but obliges me anyway.

%%%

"What's all this?"

I look up from my bed—which I have taken to using once a week in an attempt to encourage Stephen to go out more often (to no avail)—at the man standing in the doorway.

"Wong," I smile at the unexpected sight and answer, "Christmas presents."

"That's a lot of Christmas presents."

I laugh. "I have an unexpected number of friends."

"And she absolutely revels in it," Stephen (wearing the ever-present Cloak) adds as he joins Wong in the doorway.

I am glad my presents for Stephen and Wong are already wrapped.

"Well, are you two just going to stand there? Either come in or say what you have to say." The boys eye my room warily. "I _did_ choose the largest room in the dormitory," even if it is mostly covered with the mess of my Christmas preparations at present, "it even has a private bath." I give them a purposefully cheesy smile.

Wong gives me his usual blank stare that I have come to understand is his version of an eye roll and Stephen gives a little silent sigh, but they both join me in my room.

Stephen looks around as if counting presents. "How many friends do you have at Charles's?"

"Not many, actually. It is a school—mostly younger people, therefore." Stephen and Wong do not seem to understand the implications. I suppose they do not know me well enough yet. I continue. "Even if they are gifted," for I tend to be even more impatient with mundane company, "they are still children. And if many adults seem children to me, then children seem all the more immature."

"Then who is all of this for?" Stephen leans back in the armchair by the window (Wong still refuses to sit) and I smile at him making himself comfortable as I return to my present-wrapping.

"Well, I _do_ have a few friends there in addition to Charles. Charles and Ororo, of course." Did I ever mention Ororo's name? I turn my head to Stephen. "Ororo was my companion there," I explain in a manner that gives Wong little to no information, though it might trigger his curiosity—if Wong is capable of curiosity. "There are three others, too, and one student, actually, that I met when last I stayed there. She is older—not a little child anymore," I explain, "and we had some things in common. I do not think she would consider me her friend, but I consider her one of mine, if only barely."

I glance at Wong. I am surprised he is listening to all this. He is usually so purpose-driven. What did he come to say and why is he waiting to say it?

"That's six," Stephen interrupts my thoughts, "and I assume four more are for your friends at the Baxter Building—"

" _Our_ friends at the Baxter Building," I interrupt with a smile.

Stephen ignores me. "But that accounts for less than half."

I shake my head at him.

Why the interest? Perhaps he is bored in absence of my "teaching"? But I have discovered that he is a very good self-teacher, and enjoys that method of learning, so perhaps not. But then why?

"Well, there is also you and Wong," I answer, relishing the mild look of surprise on Stephen's face and the twitch that is Wong's only manifestation of his own surprise. I wonder why they are surprised, though. Even if they do not yet consider me a friend, even if they are not yet aware that I do consider them so, I live with Stephen and have been training with Wong in addition to searching the library with him, even if we tend to do the latter separately. Is that not enough to warrant well wishes at Christmastime?

"And," I hesitate, wondering if I should say it, "ten Avengers… and-or ex-Avengers. Not really sure where they all stand. I heard things went a little…" I shrug, not knowing what word to use, " _something_ since I left."

A glance at Wong reveals nothing more than his usual stoic expression, but I still wonder why he is tolerating this conversation. Stephen does not look surprised, but then again, Sue did mention my work with the Avengers at Thanksgiving.

"And the remaining three are for… friends from my SHIELD days."

This is the second Christmas since I began using my powers again, but last year it did not occur to me that I could use them to deliver presents for which I did not have a mundane method of delivery. I was, of course, easily able to have packages delivered to Charles's school and the Baxter Building, and was able to reach eight of ten Avengers (and then-ex-Avengers), but Bruce was still in hiding as far as I could ascertain, Thor was (and remains, so far as I am aware) off-world, and my fellow ex-agents were also off-grid.

I finish wrapping the last present and sit back on my bed, considering the two men that have taken up temporary residence in my room without yet alluding to their purpose. I turn to Wong expectantly, but he still says nothing. I raise an eyebrow at him.

"You have been most patient with my frivolity, Wong. Now, did you come here because you want something, or just to bask in the glory of my presence?" I tease.

Not even the hint of a smile, or even an exasperated shake of the head.

"I came to say I'll be coming."

I look at him in surprise.

"To Christmas dinner," he clarifies unnecessarily.

I did not expect an answer. I thought he would come, yes, but without addressing his intention to do so.

After Wong takes his leave of us, Stephen—still comfortable in my chair—asks, "Christmas dinner?"

I cringe. I have yet to say anything about my plans for Christmas, or that he is a part of them.

"Well, I thought a quiet Christmas was in order, so I planned to stay in. With you. And Wong." I eye him somewhat nervously. "You can invite anyone you want, of course," I add.

I suspect he either has no one to invite or will refuse to do so. I sigh. I might just have to accept that he is determined to be alone.

"No," he confirms my suspicions. "I told you, I don't have friends."

That is not true, of course, but perhaps he refuses to see it.

With his scarred hands, Stephen helps me stack my twenty-five presents in a corner. I smile at the pile in satisfaction, though I wish there was one more, for Mother. We never really celebrated Christmas in the usual sense, but we always did a little something.


	11. Chapter 10

%

 _It Began with a Goodbye_

by Riley Berg

%

Chapter Ten

Christmas Eve dawns quietly. I smile as I wake.

Although yesterday was Friday, the day I usually pretend to go out on the town to give Stephen a reprieve from having to sleep beside me (but actually sleep in my own bed, even if I do have plans for some of the evening), I did not pretend so this week. I will give Stephen his reprieve tonight, as an additional Christmas present for him.

Stephen, who has taken to staying up later and rising earlier than me, is surprisingly still asleep when I get up. After running my hand along the fabric of the Cloak of Levitation that hovers in the corner (a habit I have developed whenever Stephen is not wearing it, or looking), I quietly go to my dormitory room and enjoy the dirty white view from my window for a moment before dressing. A few days ago, I mailed a package to Charles's school containing my presents for him, Ororo, Jean, Scott, Logan, and Marie. I mailed a second package to Tony Stark at his Malibu home, though I am not certain that that is where he is at the moment. But I thought since the Baxter Building is here in New York—and I am not on undefined terms with those four like I am with Tony—I would hand-deliver the presents intended for Sue, Reed, Ben, and Johnny.

With no sign of Stephen waking, I leave the Sanctum quietly, hail a taxi, and direct the driver to the Baxter Building. It seems the boys of the Fantastic Four have the same idea as Stephen, but I find Sue awake. I place the presents on the table and help Sue make breakfast while we talk quietly.

"You sure you don't want to come over for Christmas? Or even tonight?"

I shake my head. "I think Stephen… did not appreciate me dragging him here Thanksgiving. But he denies having any other friends to make plans with and I do not want him to be alone, so…"

Sue nods in understanding.

"I did invite a mutual friend of ours to join us for Christmas dinner, though."

Sue looks at me strangely. I return the expression with a questioning one.

"Where are you staying?" she asks suddenly.

I groan internally. I have successfully avoided this question since she called me about my plans for Thanksgiving and I unintelligently let slip that I am not staying at Charles's.

"I know you haven't gone back to Charles's because you talk like you've been staying here in New York again. Are some of the Avengers back at the Tower?"

"No," I reply slowly.

"What other friends do you have that I don't know about?" The question is not sarcastic, or rhetorical. She is genuinely interested.

"A few," I answer with honesty but vagueness. "From my SHIELD days." I do not mention that I am currently not in contact with them, and certainly not staying with them.

Sue observes me with narrowed eyes.

"You're staying with Stephen, aren't you?"

I groan audibly this time. Here we go again.

"I don't know why I didn't notice earlier. The way you talk… Well, I think you've been careful not to let it slip, but the implications of some of the things you say…" She gives me a knowing look.

Except she does not know. There is nothing to know. "Sue, would you _drop it_? Do you know how annoying it is? In all the decades since I returned from isolation, I have yet to get used to humans' suspicions about love. And they are _always suspicious_! It is like a curse upon my curse," I growl. "I told you I am incapable of that sort of feeling," I add quietly.

"And I believe you as little as anyone else to whom you have admitted that mistaken assumption."

This is going nowhere. "Then just believe me when I say I do not feel that way about _Stephen_. I only broke my no-male-companions rule because he had found out about my… condition, and was the only one that _did_ know that resided in a location convenient for my needs. In any case, _he_ suggested it. We made a deal out of it and everything. I help him, he helps me. It is a business transaction and nothing more."

"Yes," Sue replies slowly, "but you _did_ self-impose that rule for a reason."

I nod. "Yes. Yes, I did. But I think… I think if anyone can resist my charms," I smile ironically, "it would be Stephen. I've lived with him for more than a month now," (albeit not much more) "and he still keeps quite a distance. He does not come over to me simply to spend time." Except when Wong came to accept my invitation, I realize. "If we are not working on something together, he is hiding away. He has yet to express interest in even friendship, let alone something worse."

"That must hurt."

I look at Sue in confusion.

"You think of him as a friend already, I can tell. And you do so cherish your friends. It must hurt to have your friendship rejected."

"Not rejected. More like ignored." I shrug. "But, as you point out, that might be for the best."

The boys wake up and I am able to wish them all a Merry Christmas. As I leave, I remind Johnny to wait to open my present until tomorrow. The others say they will ensure his obedience. I am still smiling as the elevator door closes me off from my friends.

By the time I return to the Sanctum, Stephen is awake and readied for the day.

"Where were you?"

I look at Stephen in surprise, not expecting him to care about my whereabouts.

"I went to drop off the presents for our friends at the Baxter Building," I reply slowly. "Sue and I got talking, so it took longer than I anticipated. Why?"

"I'm hungry."

I raise an eyebrow. Is he expecting me to make breakfast? I _have_ been making most of the meals, I suppose, but I know how to cook and Stephen does not, so far as he has let me know. Maybe I will have to add that to my lessons…

"I was waiting for you before I started breakfast. Didn't want it to get cold before you got here."

"I have a phone, you know. You could have called."

He looks surprised at that revelation.

"My phone number is in your contacts under 'Sophy.'"

"When did you do that?" he asks, pulling his phone through a small portal.

"The day we made our deal," I shrug. "I thought if we were going to live together, we might need to contact each other occasionally."

"You could have been texting me instead of yelling across the Sanctum."

I laugh. It seems so silly. But, then again, he does have a point. "I will try to remember that."

"So, breakfast?"

It is a fairly basic meal. Not many people can mess up scrambled eggs, or pancakes made from a just-add-water mix. But there is hope for Stephen's cooking after all.

"Merry Christmas," he says as he sets the food on the table, the eggs getting cold and some of the pancakes a little underdone.

"Merry Christmas _Eve_ ," I correct, but waste no more time before digging into the small bounty between us. I snatched a few bites at the Baxter Building, but since Sue was not planning on a fifth member of their breakfast party, I did not want to eat much. And now it is late in the morning and I am hungry.

 **%%%**

"Stephen, have you ever created a portal to a person rather than a place?"

"No," he answers in confusion.

"Hmm. I think it should be possible."

"Why?"

Understanding that he questions my desire and not that I think it possible, I answer, "I have some presents to deliver. I know who I want to send them to, but not where they are at. I assumed I could use sorcery to do so—a spell if not a portal. But I think if I can make it work, a portal would be easier."

"Maybe a combination?"

I tilt my head. That is a worthy idea. "Would you mind helping?"

"Not at all."

I smile. "It gives an excuse for you to practice on your teacher's day off."

With a quick consultation with a few spell books, we create a basic locating spell on the floor of the training room. When I am certain that we have done so correctly, I kneel in the middle of the circle and think of the first recipient, making him the target of the location spell. But using the spell to inform me of the location, or transporting myself to him, or bring him to me, I create a small portal within it. I duck my head to peer through and see my target—blessedly with his back to me.

At a nod of my head, Stephen carefully hands me the first present and I push it through the portal, letting go gingerly so it drops on the ground and swiftly closing the portal before he can turn around at the noise of its landing.

"Success," I sigh.

We repeat the process with the remaining presents, adding a parameter to the spell so that I will not be seen.

I look around to check there are no presents remaining and count on my fingers to ensure I did not miss anyone. Nick, Phil, Maria, Natasha, Clint, Steve, Thor—that one was more difficult, probably because of his location—Bruce, James, Sam, Wanda, and Vision. That is everyone.

I sigh with relief and realize how tired the process made me. Stupid friends, not keeping in contact so that I can deliver their presents the mundane way!

"And now I have to go prepare our Christmas Eve feast," I sigh. At least I made some things ahead of time, but then there is also Christmas breakfast and Christmas dinner tomorrow. Maybe I should have gone to Charles's or Sue's after all. I glance at Stephen, remembering why I refused their invitations. "You are helping." I leave no room for argument or negotiation.

 **%%%**

 **%%%**

 **Author's Note:** Thank you all so much for your continued support, for all of you that have read, followed, favorited, and reviewed this work and spread the word to your friends. Follow me on Twitter RileyBergBooks for continued updates.


	12. Chapter 11

%

 _It Began with a Goodbye_

by Riley Berg

%

Chapter Eleven

I wake to a clear sky Christmas morning. Snow fell last night and has yet to be marred, making the scene outside my window whiter than usual. I smile at in appreciatively. There is something about a white Christmas that I have come to appreciate since my reintroduction into society, though I am unsure what that something is.

Waking alone is quiet. Not just in volume, but also in feeling, if that is possible. I recognize that it is a lonely sort of silence, but push the thought to the back of my mind as I put on my favorite Christmas album, Trans-Siberian Orchestra's _The Christmas Attic,_ to banish the quiet as I get ready for the day. I ponder my appearance in the mirror. Mourning robes, as I have worn for many weeks now.

Some people find Christmastime depressing—some people, like me, that have had losses in their lives. Certainly, no one would blame me for being a little sad today, with Mother gone.

Except her.

Unbidden, a smile appears on my face at the thought.

Mother was never one to dwell on the past, and she had a lot of past to dwell on. How many times had I heard her say it? History is to be learned from, but if the past occupies our present, we have no future. It was my mantra many a day. But I am taking too long to learn it. I dwelt in regret for more years than I care to admit. Even now, much of what I do is intended as repentance for the mistakes of my past. The thought is always there at the back of my mind.

I shake my head, realizing that my mind has drifted back to dark thoughts from the light Mother's memory provided. Forcing myself to recall that happiness, I change into my Masters' robes for the first time since I left Kamar-Taj after Kaecilius's betrayal.

Mother would not want me to mourn today, or from this day forth. So I shall not.

I pick up one of the two presents left at the end of my bed and glance at Mother's picture on the mantle.

No, goodbye never does get easier, but somehow, I move on. After all, as Mother would say, memories are to be honored, not replayed.

 **%%%**

I am relieved to find Stephen still asleep as I sneak into his room. I enjoy giving gifts, but not being present when they are opened. Quietly, I place the (beautifully, if I do say so myself) wrapped gift on the trunk at the foot of his large bed, hoping the position is prominent enough to catch his attention.

With the same stealth, I successfully make my way out of the room and toward the kitchen, after my customary greeting to the Cloak of Levitation.

If my movements were not enough to wake him, the aromas of breakfast are.

"Ah, you are awake. I was just about to call you."

"You slept well?" he asks as he helps laden the table with the small bounty I ended up cooking for breakfast.

I nod, wondering why the idle chitchat. I had first thought him straightforward or silent and nothing between, but the last week has proven there are still parts of his character I have not seen. He seems determined to be alone, and yet he lets me stay here. He has yet to take the opportunities I give him to go out with his friends—that he still denies having—or respond to my encouragements to _make_ friends. And yet, _he_ invited me to live with him. I could barely convince him to sleep alone last night, since this time he knew I had no plans. I shake my head at his Cloak-ed back as he exits the kitchen with the final platter of food. Such a contradiction of a man.

Both having eaten more than we should, we slowly package the leftovers and put them in the fridge. I am beginning to enjoy the quiet Christmas morning; it reminds me of Christmases with Mother. But I have a few calls to make. My friends from SHIELD and the Avengers will have to do without, but I can call Charles and company, and Sue's crew.

When Stephen and I put the office in order, I made sure to set up the equipment for video conferencing. I go there now to call the Con-Room at Charles's school. A quick message to Ororo on her personal phone alerts her to my intentions, and by the time I am certain all the technology is ready, a signal announces an incoming call.

I smile at the sight that appears on the screen. Not only Charles and Ororo, but Jean, Scott, a reluctant Logan, and a pajama-clad Marie all greet me with merry smiles.

Though I see the unspoken concern in Charles's eyes, we all make light conversation as my friends disappear from the screen one-by-one, leaving me with their well wishes. When we are finally alone, I expect him to say what is on his mind, but he does not. Instead, he looks to the side of the screen. I look behind me.

"Stephen."

"Sorry, I just thought I heard voices."

"You did," I laugh. "Did I not tell you I set the office up for video calls?"

"I think you did. Sorry for interrupting." He ducks out of the doorway, Cloak swirling behind him.

I turn back to the screen. "Sorry about that. You were saying?"

"Nothing."

I raise my eyebrows. "Nothing?"

"Well, no. But it doesn't matter now. Merry Christmas, Sophy. I'll let you get back to your day."

Unable to identify what he is withholding, I let it go for now. "Goodbye, Charles."

"Stephen!" I call as soon as the screen goes blank.

He appears with another "Sorry."

I exhale sharply through my nose. "The rate at which you are apologizing is most unbecoming, Stephen."

He opens his mouth—I suspect to say "Sorry" again—but then closes it without uttering a syllable.

"I am going to call Sue now. Would you please join me in wishing them all a Merry Christmas?"

Stephen reluctantly agrees.

The conversation is only a little awkward. We two exchange the usual Christmas pleasantries with the four at the Baxter Building. I make an excuse for ending the call by saying I have to see to Christmas dinner preparations.

Which is not a lie. I stand in the kitchen doorway somewhat daunted. I have been doing a lot of cooking lately. At least I only have to cook for three.

"Need help?"

I almost scoff, but think better. "Yes," I answer honestly, but wonder what task I can give him.

With a shrug, I finally enter the kitchen. Hopefully, the Cloak will prevent him from accidently setting things on fire.

 **%%%**

Dinner with Stephen and Wong is unsurprisingly quiet, but I do enjoy the sight of the two men together. Despite Stephen's earlier refusal to acknowledge his friendship with Wong, it is evident from the way they act toward each other that there is at least the beginnings of friendship between them. It is just a very… Stephen-y, Wong-y friendship. I smile. They are suited to each other.

Wong dismisses himself shortly after dessert. He woke early to attend dinner in New York time and looks tired. I send him away with his present and an extra slice of pie. Now my Christmas deliveries are complete.

With Stephen insisting on putting away the final traces of food himself, I make my way upstairs to the attic room to my favorite window. It does not boast much of a view, because of its design, but there is something comforting about sitting in its light.

Stephen finds me there, with a book in one of his scarred hands as has been usual of late. I watch him in my peripheral vision as he stands in the doorway, perhaps debating his next action. He takes a stumbling step forward and I withhold a laugh, realizing the Cloak—which does not usually manifest its sentience in front of me—must have pushed him forward. He sighs audibly and steps farther into the room—under his own power—but shrugs off the Cloak before he approaches me.

"Sophia."

"Hmm?" I look up, taking silent note that he called me 'Sophia' instead of 'Sophy' and without the use of 'Master.'

After a moment of silence, he sits beside me. I set the book aside.

"You were looking at me _like that_ ," he suddenly says.

"What?"

"Like you look at Sue and Reed and them," he explains a little hurriedly.

I raise an eyebrow.

"You consider me a friend." It is not a question, but he waits as if for an answer.

I do not know how to answer. The truth is that I do consider him a friend, but I wonder if that is what he wants to hear. He has ignored my acts of friendship—or they have gone unnoticed. Perhaps he intends to reject my friendship and save me the trouble of trying.

I sigh, remembering my conversation with Sue. If it is so, it is for the best, for Stephen's sake.

"Yes," I reply honestly.

"But I did not consider you one."

There it is.

"So that we are clear with each other: am I to understand that you are declining my friendship?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. I just meant that you acted as my friend even though I did not reciprocate your actions. And I… apologize. For not reciprocating."

I stare at him in wonder. Stephen Strange remains a mystery to me. Will I ever understand him? I am usually so quick to understand people!

"What I mean is: I am offering my friendship in return."

I smile. "Thank you," I extend a hand, though it is somewhat awkward in our still seated position. He accepts it. "Friend," I add.

Neither of us certain what to do now, we sit in silence, though it is only a mildly uncomfortable one.

"You said that you stopped using sorcery for a while," he asks, and I get the impression that it is not so much of a sudden as something that has been on his mind for a while. "Why?"

I take a deep breath and consider my new friend (not new on my part, of course, but new on his). No one left on this planet knows me fully, with Mother gone and Ástriðr—the only friend I ever completely confided in—off-world. But those that I have befriended, especially those I have lived with, and more especially those who have condescended to share a bed with me, are privileged to know something of me. I have already given him a summary of my life story. In fact, the answer to his question was within that telling.

"As I alluded to in my… history lesson when I first began teaching you, I used my abilities for ill when young. I understood that using them for good instead was better than refusing to use them at all, but… circumstances prevented me from doing so completely, so I ceased their use and put myself in isolation instead. I may not have been working toward good, but at least I was not doing people evil."

He listens attentively and when I am done, quietly asks, "Why did you decide to begin using them again?"

"The… complication that prevented me from doing naught but good was finally… solved. I decided to take myself out of isolation and finally try to do some good, therefore. But after so many years of disuse… it was difficult for me to make that change. My best friend and SHIELD partner also had powers she refrained from using, so as we worked together, it was more comfortable for me to continue that way. But… she left. And over time I realized the hypocrisy of pretending to be normal while surrounding myself with exceptional people, and I accepted that I was not doing good unless I did so with the utmost of my ability."

I turn to Stephen. "So I returned to Kamar-Taj, and Mother guided me in relearning the Arts, even expanding upon my knowledge. I am only sorry I could not use my reclaimed powers to prevent Kaecilius's betrayal, or help prevent his near-success."

 **%%%**

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 **Author's Note:** Thank you all so much for your continued support, for all of you that have read, followed, favorited, and reviewed this work and spread the word to your friends. Follow me on Twitter RileyBergBooks for continued updates.


	13. Chapter 12

%

 _It Began with a Goodbye_

by Riley Berg

%

 **Chapter Twelve**

Beginning the day after Christmas, Stephen immerses himself in his studies, training, and duties as usual. I continue to be bothered by his apparent loneliness, but as _he_ seems unbothered by it, I try not to make a fuss.

I do not know why, but we are a little awkward around each other as we enter this new stage of our friendship. Other than for his "lessons" with me, he is as aloof as before, if not more so. But it leaves me a lot of time to read through the collections at Kamar-Taj for the Supreme Procedure.

Eventually, I give in to my concerns about his lack of socialization and invite him to spend New Year's Eve with me at Charles's.

"Well, we could stay here," because I am not leaving him alone, so if he refuses to go, I will stay with him, "but even hidden away in the Sanctum… Well, New York is not the quietest of places usually, but on New Year's Eve…"

Though I cannot seem to form a proper sentence, Stephen understands. This is not his first New Year's in New York.

"It would not be with the children," I assure him. "Charles has a separate get-together for those adults not playing chaperone that want a slightly saner New Year's Eve. We can portal there and back; we do not even have to show up on time or stay the night."

Stephen observes me through narrowed eyes for a long moment before agreeing in his usual reluctant manner.

 **%%%**

I take a moment to roll my eyes at myself as I ponder my reflection in the mirror. One of the advantages of Masters' robes is not having to spend so much time on one's appearance. I purse my lips and wonder if I should just wear my Masters' robes after all. Stephen will probably be wearing his. With a sigh, I decide not to bother with my apparel anymore and remain in what I have already chosen.

"Black?" Stephen's voice sounds behind me as I descend the stairs.

I pause my steps and shrug in answer as I begin to turn around. "Black is usually a safe—" bet, I finish silently, surprised by Stephen's appearance.

He is _not_ wearing his Masters' robes. Perfectly fitted black slacks and a blue button-up, the top two buttons undone and no sign of a tie on him, unless it is hidden under the matching suit jacket draped over his arm. I admit I eye him appreciatively. Why has he been refusing to wear mundane clothes before if they are so… _not_ mundane on him?

"You… dressed up," I comment lamely, turning around to continue my descent down the stairs in an attempt to not stare.

I hear his footsteps behind me, a little faster than my own. "I am more comfortable in my Masters' robes,"—translation: wearing the Cloak—"but in… non-sorcerous company, I have found it more comfortable to dress for the occasion."

I chew the inside of my cheek. Perhaps I should not have encouraged him to wear his robes and the Cloak to Thanksgiving dinner. I thought it would give him comfort, but apparently, the contrast to those of us dressed in modern human style was actually cause for discomfort.

As we step into the front hall, I turn to him with an apology on my lips, but my intentions must also show in my eyes because he silences me with a gesture.

"I know," he says, and I wonder how he does, or _if_ he really does. "No apology necessary. I did not know myself."

So, he _does_ know what I was going to say. Perhaps there is hope for our friendship after all.

I walk to the closet that holds the non-sentient outerwear. Cloaks, capes, coats, jackets, scarves, a box stuffed with gloves and mittens—matches not guaranteed—a basket of winter hats on the floor, and a tub of summer hats up on a shelf at the back. Most articles belong to no one in particular and are worn, moth-eaten, and/or badly out of fashion. Stephen and I have been meaning to go through it, but have yet to do so. Perhaps that will be one of my New Year resolutions.

I pull my wool trench coat off a peg at the front of the closet. It is one of my favorite creations, thus why I keep it in the physical world instead of shapeshifting into it. The charcoal gray matches well enough with my black dress and the hem that falls mid-calf protects the majority of my legs from the winter cold. I snuggle into the satin-lined coat with a smile on my face and pretend that I do not see Stephen as he shakes his head at me in amusement. I like clothes, I pout silently.

"I thought we were going to portal there," he says as he vanishes into the closet in search of something suitable for himself.

"We are. But I think it is rude to portal into someone's home. Or school. So, we will portal outside and then enter like anyone else."

Stephen nods his understanding as he exits the closet with a coat that causes me to pout.

"That is worn enough to justify throwing away," I mumble, wondering if even the Salvation Army would take it.

Stephen looks at it in the brighter light of the entry hall and appears to agree with me. I stare at the garment, pondering. I wonder if I can extend my shapeshifting abilities to someone else the way I can extend them to my clothes? I have never done it before. It would just be an article of clothing anyway, not the actual person. If not, maybe I can shapeshift into something not made to my measurements and then give it to him.

"Put it on."

Stephen looks at me doubtfully.

"I have an idea."

With a tentative sort of trust, Stephen dons the moth-eating coat. I extend a hand to him, wrapping it around his arm, and thus the sleeve of his coat. I close my eyes in concentration. Even when I gave up my sorcery for a time (a _long_ time), I still used my so-called shapeshifting abilities. With all that practice, it comes so naturally that it requires little thought, but this is something new.

I cannot seem to form an image in my mind of what I want. Bother!

I purse my lips but neither open my eyes or release Stephen. I will just have to start with something familiar. I imagine my own coat and slowly morph the image into something a little more masculine and better fitted for Stephen. Doubtfully, I try to solidify the image in my mind and imagine it on Stephen. A flicker of warmth passes through my fingers and I open one eye tentatively.

"I did it!" I clap my hands together happily. "I never did that before."

Stephen ignores my enthusiasm and inspects himself in the mirror. He must find it adequate because he does not complain. He does not say anything, in fact.

Neither of us mentions that we are now nearly matching as I open a portal in front of us.

"Oh, look at that; it is snowing at Charles's," I smile, pulling Stephen through the portal with me.

 **%%%**

 **%%%**

 **Author's Note:** Thank you all so much for your continued support, for all of you that have read, followed, favorited, and reviewed this work and spread the word to your friends. Follow me on Twitter RileyBergBooks for continued updates.


	14. Chapter 13

%

 _It Began with a Goodbye_

by Riley Berg

%

Chapter Thirteen

I do not bother knocking on the entrance doors; it would not be much use. Stephen hesitates half a moment to follow me across the threshold without invitation. As I suspected, no one is in sight.

"Put your coat there," I instruct Stephen, pointing to the coat rack as I sit on the bench to remove my old-fashioned galoshes from over my rarely-worn stilettos.

Stephen eyes me as if pondering the wonders of female fashion and I laugh. "At least I do not carry a purse!" I protest jestingly as I stand and unbutton my coat.

"Here," Stephen says as I finish the last button, gesturing for me to turn around.

With a look of confusion, I do so. And find my coat sliding from my shoulders. As the last inch of material slips from my hands, I turn around to watch Stephen hang my coat beside his own.

"Feeling gentlemanly this evening?"

He shrugs almost undetectably in answer but offers me his arm. My instinctual reaction is to laugh. Not at him, but in amusement at or enjoyment of the whole situation. But I keep my mouth shut, only allowing a smile to tug at my lips, as I accept the proffered arm and point in the direction we are to go.

Releasing Stephen's arm as we approach the doors of our destination, I listen for a moment at the noise coming from them. Hesitantly, for Stephen's sake, not my own, I open the door a crack and peer in. Everything looks normal. Well, normal for this exceptional life we lead. I open the door wider and look around for Charles or Ororo, the two people Stephen at least knows of, even if he is not yet acquainted with them.

I have to work quickly, and since I spot Ororo first and not far away, I choose her.

"Ororo!" I call happily, leaving Stephen standing behind me, just inside the door.

"Sophy!" she returns, genuine happiness in her eyes. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you for a while."

I nod. "Well, I decided that even if I can't live here right now, that doesn't mean I can't visit for a special occasion." I lean in and whisper, "I brought Mr. Antisocial with me, in case Charles did not forewarn you. Can I introduce you two?"

"Of course."

We turn to Stephen, who is still hovering by the doorway, and exchange knowing looks before approaching him.

"Stephen, this is Ororo Munroe, or…" I look at Ororo, wondering if it is appropriate to use her codename. She nods. "Storm," I finish.

She extends a hand.

"Ororo, this is Stephen Strange."

Stephen shakes it.

"It's nice to meet you," Ororo says in an attempt at pleasantry, and I hope she does not add something like 'I've heard so much about you.'

She does not. I sigh in relief.

"Have you met Charles?" Ororo asks Stephen.

"No, though with the way this one goes on," he gestures to me, "sometimes I feel like I have."

Ororo laughs and I glare at Stephen.

"Yes, she does like to brag about her friends," Ororo replies and I huff.

"Brag! I never! These things just… come up in conversation."

The door opens, blessedly interrupting the conversation.

"Speaking of," Ororo laughs, as she sees that it is Charles rolling through the doorway.

"Ah, Sophy, I'm glad you decided to come." He turns to Stephen. "And you are Stephen. I remember from the video call. But we haven't been properly introduced."

Charles extends a hand up to Stephen who accepts it, looking more relaxed with Charles than he was with Ororo. I wonder why that is.

"We only just arrived," I smile at Charles. "Would you care to make the rounds with us? Stephen has yet to be introduced."

Unsurprisingly, Charles agrees.

Marie is with the other students, of course, so I cannot say hello to her, but maybe I can sneak in there before I leave. Jean is chaperoning that party, so she is not here either. Logan is nowhere in sight. He is a loner himself, one to rival and probably overcome Stephen. But Charles and I introduce Stephen to my other friends as well as some of the other teachers and past students and others of Charles's circle. The attendance is quite extensive for a 'little get-together.' I am glad I convinced myself to delay our arrival until eleven; I think Stephen is already overwhelmed.

But he finds an apparently comfortable spot in the corner, talking to Charles and Scott, and so I venture over to Ororo for the usual idle chitchat, humorous stories, and a bit of catch-up on our lives since parting.

"It's almost midnight," Ororo announces, looking over my shoulder at the clock.

I turn around to observe the time. Fifteen minutes until the new year. I glance at the corner where Stephen is and find that he… isn't. I purse my lips and look around for Charles. When our eyes meet, he gestures through the door in answer to my unspoken question. I sigh.

"Sorry, Ororo. I am going to go find Stephen."

"You know, you might just leave well alone."

I look at Ororo in surprise.

"He obviously doesn't _want_ to be here right now, or else he would be. Not everyone is so enthralled with friendship as you are."

I sigh. "Humans, mutants, my father's people, and every other higher species I have ever met… they are all social creatures. They _need_ it."

Ororo replies quietly, "Well, maybe he doesn't need it as much, or he needs a different sort than most."

I ponder her suggestion. So far, Stephen has shown a dislike for crowds, but that could also be a result of his lack of familiarity with the particular crowds I have dragged him into.

"Perhaps you are right. Dragging him back here would be a disservice."

"But maybe leaving him alone would be, too."

I raise an eyebrow at my friend.

"So, go find him, just don't 'drag him back here.' Celebrate New Year's with him in _his_ way."

I smile at Ororo. She is a good friend.

 **%%%**

"Stephen?"

He looks at me over his shoulder, apparently unstartled by my sudden appearance.

"Enjoying the view?" I nod to the large window which he stands in front of. The snow is falling gently on the other side of the glass.

"Yes," he replies simply, turning back to said view.

I sigh quietly and approach him slowly. "I was wondering where you disappeared to. It is almost midnight."

Stephen says nothing as I stop beside him and set two drinks on the windowsill.

He looks down at the drinks in surprise. "Sparkling cider," I assure him, uncertain about his opinion of alcohol.

With the drinks unburdened, I use one of my free hands to extract my phone from the hidden pocket in my dress. We still have a few minutes until the new year.

"I… I am sorry, Stephen."

He turns his head to look at me but still remains silent.

"You were rather clear about your opinion of Thanksgiving. I should not have… tried again." He still says nothing. I groan inwardly. "It is… a part of my character to value my friends highly. You have seen that. You know that, even if you do not quite understand it." I take a deep breath. "But, not all my friends are the same. Some enjoy one thing while others hate it and still others are indifferent to the matter.

"We have agreed to be friends. And I am afraid I have done you a disservice already. So, I was thinking that a quiet chiming in of the new year is in order. Just the two of us." I look out the window. "Right here, in view of the gently falling snow."

"You don't have to—"

"No," I interrupt. "I want to."

A moment of comfortable silence passes before Stephen finally speaks.

"Is that why you pretended to be out all night every Friday?"

I sputter. "What?"

"Well, you did go out sometimes. But you always came… home. Slept in your bed in the dormitory, though."

I stare at him. "You knew!"

"Of course I knew."

I groan.

"You did that to encourage me to make use of the time. To socialize, I mean."

"Yes," I admit, defeated.

"No need."

"I am beginning to understand that."

Another moment of silence, somewhat less comfortable on my part.

"Stephen, I am willing to accept your… less social nature."

He opens his mouth, I suspect to make a sarcastic comment, but I cut him off with a gesture.

"I understand that the… mundane world is, well, mundane. That is why I have always gravitated toward the exceptional even when out in the world, away from the wondrous confines of Kamar-Taj. And friendship can seem something from the mundane world, but… you still need friends. Even if they are few in number. Perhaps… well, as you may have noticed, my friends are not… ordinary. That takes some of the mundane out of it. Perhaps you can make some… exceptional friends."

He makes no reply.

"Wong," I suggest. "He is odd in his own ways, but I think he would make a good friend. Might even tolerate you enough to be one," I jest. "Just… start _somewhere_."

"I already have," he replies without looking at me.

I tilt my head up at him.

Oh!

He means me.

I smile warmly and stare out the window with him.

Muffled sounds of celebration reach my ears and I check the time on my phone.

"Midnight," I inform Stephen.

He smiles slightly but does not turn to me. I look at him through narrowed eyes, considering. And then decide to throw caution to the wind.

Grateful for the inches my heels add to my diminutive height, I reach up a hand to steady myself on Stephen's shoulder and plant a quick kiss on his cheek.

"Happy two-thousand seventeen," I whisper.

I turn away to avoid seeing his reaction, realizing it was perhaps not the wisest course of action to take, but what is done is done. Hopefully, he does not get the wrong idea.

Reaching for my glass, I hold it up in a toast.

"Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year."

The delicate ring of crystal fades as we contemplate the snow falling on a new year in companionable silence.

 **%%%**

 **%%%**

 **Author's Note:** Thank you all so much for your continued support, for all of you that have read, followed, favorited, and reviewed this work and spread the word to your friends. Follow me on Twitter RileyBergBooks for continued updates.


	15. Chapter 14

**Important Note:** For those who care whether this will continue as a friendship story or turn into a romance, I would like to say that _this_ book is going to remain in the friendzone, **but** I do have plans to further Sophia and Stephen's relationship (yes, Stephen will be her love interest rather than another character). No, I am not trying to satisfy everyone, rather, I envision their romantic relationship developing slowly and there is already too much going on with the development of their friendship and other plots only subtly in play as of yet that will occupy this book. For those who prefer friendship over romance, you should continue enjoying this book. For those who are looking forward to romance, continue reading and look out for the sequel afterward. Thank you for your support!

P.S. If you're curious, the poll results combined from the poll on FanFiction, the comments on FanFiction, and the comments on Wattpad are as follows: 54% for Yes, a Romance with Stephen; 28% for No Romance; and 18% for Yes, a Romance with Another Character. Thank you to everyone who participated.

%

 _It Began with a Goodbye_

by Riley Berg

%

Chapter Fourteen

We had survived a more than a week of the New Year without any awkwardness or arguments. Stephen was impatient with himself during my lessons, but I noticed that he was careful not to direct his attitude toward me. I even spent a day at Kamar-Taj with Wong and Stephen _voluntarily_ accompanied me. It meant I could not speak to Wong of you-know-what, but it was quite enjoyable for the three of us to train together.

It is for those reasons that I look on Stephen's approach with some apprehension. After more than a week of bliss, something is bound to go wrong, yes?

"Master Sophy," he greets politely, and my apprehension heightens. He has taken to calling me without title most of the time, as I now do to him and Wong.

I set the book I am searching aside and gesture for him to sit. He obliges but says nothing of what is on his mind. Instead, he looks at me as if considering _what_ to say, or perhaps how to say it.

Finally breaking the silence, he softly asks, "When you returned to Kamar-Taj to relearn the Arts…" He pauses as if still unsure how to form his words. "You said that not only did you refresh your memory, but you learned some… new things as well."

It is not quite a question in intonation, but I understand it to be one nevertheless, and so I nod my head.

"So, when you were… young, and first learned the Arts, you didn't learn everything there was to learn."

I scoff at the absurdity, forgetting my apprehension at his still-unknown purpose. "Of course not! I told you, even the Ancient One was still a student of the Arts. There is always more to learn, greater control to be gained, new techniques to try."

"Ah."

I sigh. Stephen did not expect a different answer, I do not think, but perhaps one that had more to do with whatever it is he wants to talk about. I decide to continue, in hopes of stumbling upon his intention sooner rather than later.

"Additionally," I see him perk at the word, "when I was young, I—well, I suppose I need to explain first. My father's people, as you already know, are natural sorcerers. I did not grow up among them—my father's people, that is—so I do not know for sure, but according to my understanding, everyone receives a basic education in the Arts, in order to control their power. To prevent accidents, harm to self or others, and such. But not everyone chooses to educate themselves beyond that. Although one can continue their education, some choose to exercise their powers minimally, and others to develop and use them without formal instruction.

"I was given a basic education in the Arts, of course, but at the time I had no interest in further formal instruction. I used my sorcery…. instinctively, I suppose you could say. With the help of a book, I taught myself how to portal; that was a convenient skill. And I used the so-called creating-something-from-nothing for similar convenience. Again, a skill self-taught, though that took me much longer and a greater number of books. I had learned meditation as part of my basic education, but I had no interest in learning to fight or defend, as is the main purpose of sorcery on this world. So when I returned to Kamar-Taj, I was a relative novice in those things. While I relearned my other abilities, Mother began teaching me to fight and defend myself." I sigh. "In those things, I only a little more skilled than you, if at all."

When I look back at Stephen from staring at the middle-distance, I find his eyes… sparkling. Like a child who has discovered something he thinks extraordinary.

"I can help you," he, well, _blurts_.

I stare at him.

"What?"

"I can help you," he repeats, calmer this time. "With those things you didn't learn in your youth. Those things your mother was teaching you. By your own description, you still have some learning to do. I could – " He pauses as if suddenly realizing something. "Do you _want_ to learn more?"

I smile at Stephen. I would not subject myself to training with Wong if I did not want to improve.

"Yes," I reply simply.

"You said… Masters help one another. The strength of one may be the weakness of the other, and they work together to improve." I nod. "Perhaps… we can do that. You are already helping me, teaching me. Perhaps, if you are willing, I can… return the favor."

I do not know how to react. Something makes me want to throw my arms around him at the offer, but I think that might just be my relief at finally having his intentions clarified and my apprehensions put to rest.

"Thank you, Master Stephen," I finally manage, and notice his smile, which is slight, to begin with, falter a little, as if he thinks I am politely declining. I smirk—well, my inner-self smirks—glad to pay him back a little of the anxiety he caused me earlier. "I gladly accept your offer."

 **%%%**

"Ugh!"

"Headache?"

I startle at the question, not expecting Stephen to be in the room, and deposit the bag of groceries on the kitchen table with a satisfyingly loud thud.

"What?" I question, my mind still somewhat distracted by my plight as I watch Stephen put the kettle on.

"Do you have a headache? The Ancient One said sometimes… beginners," he hesitates with the words as if unsure it should apply to me, or whether or not I will allow him to apply it to me, "get headaches their first few times. I didn't," he quickly adds, as if my opinion of him might fall if he _did_ , "but I guess some do."

First few times what? Oh! He's talking about astral projection. "No, no," I assure. "I'm fine in that regard. It's just… that blasted holiday."

He looks up me in confusion.

"You know… the one in February?"

After a moment of consideration, his expression turns to amusement. "Valentine's Day?"

"Yes!" I reply, annoyed—not at him, though, of course. "The candies and decorations and cards are all out on display at the store."

"And what is so dreadful about Valentine's Day?" he asks.

I do not answer immediately but observe him carefully instead. I understand that he is not who he used to be. Stephen is not very forthcoming about his past—one of my favors he has yet to see fit reciprocating—but I cannot imagine him celebrating Valentine's Day as either a Master of the Mystic Arts _or_ a world-class neurosurgeon with a Ph.D. besides.

"Most girls – women," he corrects, "in my understanding, look forward to the day immensely."

I roll my eyes. "Superficial," I reply simply.

"What?"

"Superficial," I repeat. "Ingenuine. Most of it, at least."

" _What_ , exactly, is superficial?"

"Their affections. Too much focus on the material, not enough of the emotional. A waste of time."

Something in my tone of voice must have been more telling than my words, because Stephen asks a very unexpected question, though, by his own flippant tone of voice, his realizations have yet to reach his consciousness.

"What, you've never been in love?"

I stare at him. "No," I reply quietly.

"What?" he asks incredulously.

"No. I have never been in love." I turn away to start putting away the groceries. They have sat on the table long enough.

"You've – you've never – but I thought you said you're older than me! Quite a bit older, you implied. How can you have lived that long and not – ?"

I shrug, though I _do_ know the answer to his unfinished question. "What, have _you_ ever been in love?" I shoot back instead.

"No," he replies in a moment, "not in the way I think you're meaning."

I sigh. "That has nothing to do with it anyway. There's nothing wrong with _love_. And no, every relationship is… superficial. Just… too many of them are. And the way Valentine's Day is celebrated is a cyclical annoyance: a symptom of the ailment that also propagates the continuation of said ailment." I shake my head.

"You've really never been in love?"

I groan. "That's not the point!" Why do humans always get stuck on that point? And non-humans, too! Ástriðr was the worst of them all as far as my non-existent love life was concerned.

When I look at Stephen, I begin worrying that he might take after Ástriðr in that regard. The concern in his eyes is genuine. I wonder why. Certainly, from the character he has demonstrated, he would not think it some great tragedy to have never loved.

"Should you have been in love by now?" he asks with a softness that takes me by surprise.

Curse him and his mysterious ability to be as blank as an unused sheet of paper! What is he _thinking_?

"What?"

"Considering how old you are, however old that is, and for your… race. Should you have been in love by now?"

I shrug. "I do not know the answer to that question," I reply honestly, "though I suppose…"

Even if I were fully the blood of my father's people, I would look older by now. I do not know the particulars of my race, but according to Ástriðr even the longer living races, that are often blessed to have a disproportionate adolescence and old-age in comparison to humans, would have aged beyond the appearance of a twenty-year-old human in the millennia of my lifetime. It is yet another mystery to me that even I do not understand.

If one goes by age rather than appearance then, yes, I should have fallen in love at least once in my life. "But I am not capable of it."

 **%%%**

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 **Author's Note:** Thank you so much for reading!

If you like this, please remember to follow and favorite the story and maybe even me, if you haven't yet. Leave a **review** letting me know what you like about this chapter.

If you _don't_ like this, give me your home address. Just kidding. (That probably wasn't even funny…) But, in seriousness, I'm always open to constructive criticism or notes on needed edits, so go ahead and leave those in a review if you have them.


	16. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:** Thank you all so much for your continued support, for all of you that have read, followed, favorited, and reviewed this work and spread the word to your friends. Follow me on Twitter RileyBergBooks for continued updates.

%

 _It Began with a Goodbye_

by Riley Berg

%

Chapter Fifteen

"I am not capable of it."

"What?"

I turn to Stephen, realizing too late that I spoke aloud. Ástriðr would be distressed to learn how quickly Stephen is taking the place of my secret-keeper in her absence. But it is too late now. I can tell by the look in Stephen's eye that he will not dismiss the statement I let slip. Perhaps as a friend, if I asked him to let it be… but, no, as a friend he would pursue it, pursue understanding.

I sigh.

"I am not capable of love." He raises an incredulous eyebrow. " _Romantic_ love," I clarify.

"How can you not be capable?"

I shrug. "It is not in my physical nature, or my emotional one. I just… cannot feel that way. I have never had a physiologic response of that nature, or ever had my mind or heart or whatever you want to call it _feel_ like that."

He looks at me in disbelief. "Are your father's people – ?"

I shake my head. "I do not think so. It is just… me."

He shakes his head in disbelief.

"It should not be that difficult to understand. There are asexual humans, are there not? Well, I am an asexual… whatever-I-am."

"You say that so calmly," he says, eyeing me as if he expects me to break down in the throes of emotion.

"I'm not some starry-eyed youth, or even a hopeful young woman. I have no desire, no _goal_ for love, at least not in that form. I give more attention to the forging and nourishing of my friendships than it seems to me most people give to their so-called committed relationships. That is enough for me."

"But – but – "

"'But' what? Why is this so difficult for you to accept?"

I eye him nervously. Surely not. Surely he has not… _developed feelings_ for me?

"I have seen the way you look at your friends. At me. Even, though perhaps to a lesser degree, Wong." He pauses. "You love them. You love _us_. No," he interrupts before I can protest, "not romantic love, I know. But love nonetheless. And… I think… you have the greatest capacity for love of anyone I have ever met. I dare say of anyone in the world."

I stare, I admit, dumbstruck at his words. 'Love' is a word I have grown to hate, especially in the English language. Even my affection for my friends, which I obviously enjoy, I do not prefer to refer to as 'love.'

But somehow, I do not mind it so much, the way Stephen said it.

Maybe in my old age, 'Aphrodite' will refer to a different sort of love.

If only 'Areia' could have a different meaning, I sigh inwardly, or my pursuit of worthiness for the name 'Sophia' could be accomplished.

He continues, pulling me away from my diverted thoughts, "Your friends are— _we_ are blessed beyond comprehension to be… the objects of your affections. Certainly, they… we," he edits again, with only a little hesitation, "return your friendship, but… but I can't help but think that some disservice is being done to you that you should not be blessed to love someone with an even greater love, and receive that love in return."

So _that_ is what he was thinking. I am torn between relief to learn that he is still resisting my so-called charms and gratitude for his concern for me.

"It is alright," I try to assure him with a warm smile. "As I told you, it is not something I desire."

He looks doubtful and I consider saying more, but, no, not now. I will let this settle. If it does not, we can have this conversation again, and maybe I will add to it. Hopefully, he is less stubborn than Ástriðr. Even after sixty years of friendship and partnership and _trying to get her to understand_ , she was still trying to marry me off, as if there was not enough evidence of my asexuality.

 **%%%**

To my surprise, Stephen does not broach the subject again. I continue guiding him to learn "my" sorcery, and he continues to train with me in fighting and defense, in the—newly introduced to me—mirror dimension, as I still make quite a mess. I continue to make progress in astral projection, but it is a slow progress as I have little motivation. I understand the use of the mirror dimension and the ability to travel to various dimensions of the multiverse, but the astral form is something I have yet to see the use for.

As I ponder this mystery, Stephen interrupts my thoughts with a quiet, "Master Sophy?"

I look up to find him in the doorway of my dormitory room, where I have taken to lounging whenever we are not teaching or training together.

"Duty calls," he informs me. "And I am not sure how long I will be gone. A few hours perhaps, but a few days possibly. Will you be alright?"

I look at him in confusion. Of course, I will be alright. I can take care of myse—Oh! He means because he will not be there to sleep beside me at night if his duties keep him away long.

"I think I will be fine, as long as it is no more than three days, and even then I will be okay, just not in guaranteed optimal condition. But, I could come along with you, if you would like. Not for my sake," I interject before he misunderstands, "but for yours. To help you."

Stephen remains silent, considering my offer.

"It is standard to work in pairs at the least," I encourage.

Stephen nods. "It would be smarter that way, I suppose. Protect each other's backs if something goes wrong, that sort of thing."

"Exactly," I smile, standing to slip on my outer layer, a hooded, sleeveless robe-like coat I wear over my Masters' robes. "So, what is this 'duty' you are tending to?"

I walk down the hall with Stephen and he opens his mouth to answer, but something stops me in my tracks just as we pass the Relic Room. I look down, and to my genuine surprise find a corner of the Cloak of Levitation wrapped around my wrist. I stare at it, trying to remember if it has done something like that before when it partnered with other Masters of the past. I do not think so. To its Masters, yes, but not to others, neither when partnered or when alone. But, it has always been one of the pickier relics, so it has not had as many Masters as the others, and thus less time to display its abilities.

I shift my stare to Stephen, but he seems just as bewildered as me. Looking back down at the Cloak, which has yet to release me, I wonder what it is trying to communicate. I look around for a clue, and my eyes fall on the many glass cases and shelves of the Relic Room.

The Cloak releases me.

A relic?

"I wear my relics," I counter, lifting a wrist pointedly as I look at the Cloak in my peripheral vision.

It shudders a little.

I sigh. Mother did not think the bracelets counted, either, but it seems that the relics treat me as non-human. My father's race does not have the same relationship with relics as the humans do. I can use them, but I am not chosen by any one of them.

But I must select a weapon, or perhaps a shield, to satisfy the Cloak.

Stupid relics! Multiplied by two.

I take a step toward the Relic Room, looking around.

"You can just take a relic?"

Without looking back, I reply, " _Anyone_ can just take a relic. But their ability to control it will be based on their abilities as a sorcerer, and certain relics will be unresponsive, or at least less responsive, when forced to do a sorcerer's bidding instead of choosing to serve that sorcerer. And among my father's people, relics are less important. From what I remember, they do not choose us, but we can use them. Partnership with a relic is not a requirement for graduating from disciple to Master as it is here. In fact, there are no _disciples_. Just apprentices that become Masters."

Ah! A casting rod. I pick it up, a rod which would seem no different than a quarter-staff to the untrained eye, and weigh it in my hand. It will do.

"Satisfied, my lady?" I ask, turning to the Cloak.

It tugs Stephen a little toward the hallway from where he has stepped into the Relic Room with me.

"I take that as a 'yes.'"

"I hope we won't need it," Stephen adds as we walk to the open area at the end of the hall for him to form a portal to our destination.

%%%

 **Author's Note:** Thank you so much for reading! Spread the word to your friends. Please remember to **follow** and **favorite** the story and maybe even me, if you haven't yet. Leave a **review** letting me know what you thought about this chapter. (I'm always open to constructive criticism or notes on needed edits, so go ahead and leave those in a review, too, if you have them.)


	17. Chapter 16

**Author's Note:** Technical difficulties are on-and-off, but they are off at the moment. I may post every two weeks rather than weekly until part of my time is no longer interfered with by said difficulties (I have a few work-arounds, but they are also obnoxious, so posting every other week will lead to less annoyance, and an annoyed me is not a creative me). Thank you all so much for your continued support, for all of you that have read, followed, favorited, and reviewed this work and spread the word to your friends. Follow me on Twitter RileyBergBooks for continued updates.

%

 _It Began with a Goodbye_

by Riley Berg

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Chapter Sixteen

"How can someone _accidently_ use sorcery?" Stephen asks in exasperation as he observes the nervous youth that has seated himself in the corner of the common room as if he can disappear by so doing.

"They cannot," I reply with a sigh, handing Stephen the book I brought back with us. "He had this. Master Wong said several artifacts and books went missing in London, but they assumed them destroyed. It looks like some of them were thrown out on the street, though," I say, pointing to the book, "and at least one of them found their way across the pond."

I study the sorcerer-wannabe as Stephen opens the book. He is taller than me, but that is not difficult for most people to achieve. He is gangly as well, making him look younger than I suspect he is.

"How old are you?"

Our guest straightens a little. "Eighteen."

There is something in his tone of voice that makes me suspicious. I narrow my eyes at him.

"Next month."

I sigh. "Stephen, we should not have taken him from his home. He is still a child."

"Everyone is a child to you," Stephen replies astutely but distractedly as he skims through the book.

" _Legally_ he is still a child," I clarify. "We need to take him home."

Stephen ignores me, so I kick a stool out from under the settee and stand on it behind Stephen so I can read over his shoulder.

"That it basic," I say with relief as I dismount the stool. "We are blessed he did not acquire something more dangerous, and that he is not quite as reckless as another student I once heard about."

Stephen turns his head to glare at me. I smile back.

"Are you two done? Can I have my book back now?"

"Have you read all the way to the end?" Stephen asks at the same time I say, "It is not your book."

"I bought it!" the teenager protests. "Legitimately and with my own money."

"That may be true, but it is still a stolen good. Even if you bought it in what you believed to be a legal transaction, it must be returned to its rightful place."

Doubt flashes in the youth's eyes, but he still sticks his chin out stubbornly.

"What is your name, child?" I try.

"I'm not a child! And you're only—what?— _two_ years older than me?"

"More like two thousand," I mutter, but not low enough for Stephen to miss my words I notice as he turns his head back to me sharply.

"I apologize. What is your name?"

"Matthew," he replies hesitantly.

"Matthew," I smile up at him, missing the temporary height the stool afforded me. "Why do you have such an interest in this book?"

Stephen scoffs beside me and I fight the temptation to elbow him.

"It's…" Matthew hesitates.

"Yes?"

"You're going to think I'm crazy."

"No, I will not."

"It's… real," he finishes simply.

I raise an eyebrow at him.

"I told you it was crazy! But that—that _book_ is real. That… magic is real. I really did it."

"Sorcery," I correct.

"What?"

"The proper term is 'sorcery,' not 'magic.'"

Matthew stares at me in a mix of confusion and disbelief.

"And we know you 'really did it.' That is how we found you."

"I think you broke him," Stephen comments idly as he observes the gaping youth.

"At least he is intelligent enough to realize the implications of my words. There is hope for this one. Do you think—?"

I tilt my head at the boy, wondering if he would make a good candidate for a novice. He has already proven himself capable of learning sorcery, and without blowing himself limb from limb, but technically anyone can learn sorcery.

"Stephen, can I talk to you in private?"

Stephen looks at Matthew doubtfully.

"Leave her to look after him," I suggest.

It takes Stephen a moment to understand, but then he shrugs the Cloak of Levitation from his shoulders and Matthew's stare is transferred from me to the independently floating Cloak as Stephen and I exit the room.

"I think we should send him to Kamar-Taj."

"You were just saying we should send him home. 'He is a child,' remember?"

"Send him home until he is of legal age and then take him to Kamar-Taj," I correct.

Stephen sighs.

"He has already experienced sorcery, Stephen. There is no erasing that fact. If we leave him alone, he will seek it out, possibly harming himself or others or destroying a whole city block in the process, or worse, discovering the darker sides of power, and not having the strength to use them wisely."

Stephen continues to remain silent.

"What did _you_ do?"

"What?" Finally, Stephen speaks.

"When you first realized, _accepted_ that this," I gesture around me, "was real, what did you do? What lengths were you willing to go through to learn it? And once you began learning it, what measures did you take to learn as much as you could as quickly as possible?"

"Wong told you," he accuses.

"He may have mentioned that you were an avid student, yes, but that is not the point. No, not everyone is _you_ , Stephen, but it is only natural for him to seek power once he has been made aware not only of its existence but its accessibility."

"You have a point."

"Thank you," I drawl sarcastically.

Stephen shoots me a look of exasperation. "But there are still logistical issues involved."

"We should probably discuss those _with_ him."

Stephen nods and I lead the way back to the common room.

"Matthew?"

Where did he—Oh!

That has to be the most amusing reaction to the Cloak I have witnessed in all my centuries among the Masters.

Matthew is curled in his chosen chair, staring at the Cloak in horror.

I laugh as I glide my hand along the deep red fabric and pick up a corner, curling it around my finger.

"Stephen, I think we will have to change our decision. If he is afraid of a little thing like this—" I release the Cloak and let my sentence hang as well.

"No!" Matthew interjects almost immediately, understanding the implications of my words at least enough to understand he wants to correct me. "I'm not afraid. It is just… weird."

"Get used to it, kid," Stephen sighs as he pulls the Cloak back around his shoulders.

"I fear we have forgotten our manners, Matthew. I am Master Sophy, and this is Doctor Strange."

"N—nice to meet you," the boy stutters doubtfully as he eyes the Cloak now hanging loosely at Stephen's back.

I ignore him. "Matthew, we have decided to give you a chance. No, do not get excited. It is only a _chance._ We will keep the book. You have to go back home, and promise not to use anything you have learned until we come back to get you. We have to wait for you to turn eighteen, and in addition, I think it would be good if you finished high school. It is only a few more months."

I glance at Stephen who nods his agreement.

"And then we will take you to a place where you will be given a chance to learn more sorcery. Whether or not you are given more opportunities from there is out of our hands at that point. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Matthew replies with more seriousness than I have yet seen him exhibit.

"If you can make good on that chance, you will be away from home for a while. You will need to arrange for that. I do not want your friends or family worrying about you, calling the police, or such."

"Okay."

"We can help you with that if needed."

"And now," Stephen announces, "it is time for you to go home."

He leads us into the entry hall, which is the most open place in the Sanctum and therefore our preferred location to portal, and opens a portal as Matthew stares wide-eyed.

"You were unconscious last time," I explain as I step toward the portal. "Be glad Stephen does not have to carry you this time. He was quite grumpy."

"Hey!"

"You _were_. Come, Matthew."

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 **Author's Note:** Thank you so much for reading! Spread the word to your friends. Please remember to **follow** and **favorite** the story and maybe even me, if you haven't yet. Leave a **review** letting me know what you thought about this chapter. (I'm always open to constructive criticism or notes on needed edits, so go ahead and leave those in a review, too, if you have them.)


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